


The Rest Was History

by Tate



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-31
Updated: 2015-10-07
Packaged: 2018-03-09 20:13:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 28,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3262904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tate/pseuds/Tate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Historian Bellamy Blake needs to impress his potential bosses at ARK Enterprises. He's got everything they're looking for, except the girlfriend that his best friend Raven Reyes assures him will win them over. But that's okay, because Raven's found just the girl. Only, there's one problem. Bellamy Blake and Clarke Griffin really, really hate each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. This Is PoliSci

Raven leans over the kitchen bench, nodding in momentary silence. “So I’m going to ignore the fact that your potential bosses are essentially elitist assholes, and focus on the fact that you’re going to need a really impressive plus-one.”

Bellamy raises an eyebrow. “Oh? I figured I could take you.”

She smirks, allowing that _yes_ , she is impressive, and that _yes_ , they know each other really well, especially since that time a couple of years back when they had sex, but no, she cannot accompany him to his Snotty Old Archaeologists’ gala, or his Snotty Old Archaeologists’ dinner – because she’s just started seeing someone.

“What?” Bellamy asks, astonished, because Raven’s vocal about everything from engine oil to that time somebody stole one of her tank tops, and she’s never once mentioned a new boyfriend. “Who? Since when?”

“Patience, grasshopper.” She’s still smirking, but it’s softer now. He doesn’t feel quite like she could murder him and expect a _thank you_. “All in good time. Who are your other plus-one options?”

Bellamy shrugs. “Uh… Miller?”

Raven laughs. “I don’t know how progressive these guys are gonna be. But on the plus side – his dad does work in the army…”

“O’s doing a double major at Brown. I could ask her.”

She shakes her head. “No way, it’s too close to exams. Plus,” she adds, considering it, “I think you need a girlfriend. It shows them you can be depended on.”

Bellamy concedes, leaning back on his stool as Raven says, “Okay – what are we looking for here?”

“Smart,” he says immediately, with his index finger pointed nowhere in particular.

“Stoic,” Raven replies.

He’s so confused that he sits bolt upright and stares at her. “What?”

Raven seems to be fighting the urge to roll her eyes. “You’re the charismatic speaker, the man of the people, as it were; you need a level-headed, issues-minded individual. Preferably one with great boobs.”

“Raven.”

“Sorry,” she replies, not sounding it. “You’re a good-looking guy – your girlfriend should match.”

Bellamy accepts the compliment and moves on in a business-like manner. “So we’re looking for a smart, resilient, preferably well-off and good-looking girl who wants to date me? Good thing we’ve got so many of those on hand.”

Raven ignores his sarcasm and says, “Actually, I’ve already found one.”

“Oh?”

“Her mom’s a doctor, and her dad used to work for a big company like ARK. She’s into art and PoliSci and Law, but she’s the first girl you’d want in your corner if you’ve split your lip. She’s the smartest, most self-sacrificing, uptight intellectual I know. She’s even got great boobs. And she owes me one.”

“Why haven’t you set us up before?” he asks, sceptical.

Raven doesn’t look at him. “You’ve… met.”

“Oh, God, what’s the catch? There’s a massive catch, isn’t there?”

She abstains from making the obvious _she’s a massive catch_ joke, and instead bites her lip. “You two, uh… you really fucking hate each other.”

Stunned silence breaks out between the two of them, and Bellamy feels like he’s going to suffocate in it. He stares at Raven, disbelieving. “…You want me to date _the Princess_? _Fucking – Clarke Griffin_?”

Raven looks at him. “How badly do you want this job?”

“She’ll never do it,” Bellamy insists, folding his arms and pursing his lips – but Raven has a sure expression on her face.

“Trust me when I say she owes me one, Bellamy.”

He swears under his breath but doesn’t argue with her.

“Let me talk to her,” Raven continues. “I’ll do it tonight. Are you free for lunch tomorrow?”

“Raven, you should know by now I’m not the kind of guy who ‘does lunch’.”

“Fine,” she snaps, because now he just sounds exhausted. “Would you rather meet her for dinner, then?”

Bellamy rolls his eyes. “Anything’s better than _lunch_.”

*

Bellamy’s sure that there’s no way in hell Clarke Griffin will agree to meet him for dinner, let alone help him out, but Raven has never failed him before. Lo and behold, a few minutes after he’s arrived at the swanky restaurant on 18th and claimed a table, Clarke appears at the door, dressed less like a soccer mom and more like she actually might want to be here.

He makes a point to stand and pull her chair out for her, which comes as a surprise – to Clarke, at least.

“Relax, Princess,” he mutters, sitting down opposite her. “I figured if we’re going to pretend to be dating, we may as well have a trial run.”

A waitress sweeps over to the table, introducing herself as Keenan, and pours them two glasses of water. She comes back a moment later with two menus, and Clarke leafs through hers before she responds to Bellamy.

“The first thing you should know,” she says, when she finally does speak, “is that I am not one of those girls who’s flattered when a guy chooses food for me on the first date.”

Bellamy glances up from his own menu, noticing not just Clarke but also a guy at the bar who seems very interested in their table.

“The only thing I’d want for you, Princess, is poison.”

“Says my – quote – _boyfriend_ , whose employment depends on this meal.”

Keenan returns, and they both order. Bellamy barely takes the time to fumble over an entrée for them to share, Clarke beams more genuinely at the waitress than at her boyfriend, and there’s no hope in hell of them ever pulling this off.

“You’re not drinking?” Clarke notices as Keenan bounces away. “I’d have thought you’d need hard liquor to get through dinner with Clarke Griffin.”

“I’d expect the same of you. No pretty spritzer?”

“I seem to recall the word ‘poison’…”

“Funny,” says Bellamy, no hint of a smile. “I didn’t think you’d want me drunk if I’m driving you home.”

“I don’t want you in any capacity,” Clarke replies disdainfully. “Now, let’s get one thing straight – I’m here as a favour to Raven.”

“Bless your heart,” he tells her, sugary sweet, “Me too.”

Keenan arrives with their drinks, which Bellamy and Clarke both accept with megawatt smiles and gracious words of thanks. When their attention returns to each other, however, Clarke has dropped the act.

“How are we saying we got here? I can’t tell ARK Enterprises that my best friend called in a favour.”

Bellamy sips at his water. “I was thinking a gallery.”

Clarke is so intrigued that she forgets to hate him. “What?”

“I was there for the history, you were there for the art,” Bellamy explains. “Don’t you like art?”

Clarke nods. “And – and maybe you were arguing with an attendant. About the date of some piece they had in for the month – an Oppenheim – ”

“ – wait, Oppenheim _er_? ‘I am become Death’?”

“ – no, no _er_ – the Swiss surrealist – ”

“ – oh, figures – ”

“ – anyway – you were arguing about the Oppenheim – ”

“ – And you pitched in to say I was right?” Bellamy suggests.

Again, Clarke nods. “Yes, I think so. And then we got talking, about our lives, and the gallery, and…”

“And maybe you asked me if I’d seen the café on 47th, with all the reconstructions of traditional Roman statues?”

The façade drops for a moment, and Clarke’s eyes light up. “Oh, my God – have you really?”

Bellamy smirks, because he discovered it one day after work and then had to take Raven, who most likely recommended it to Clarke. “Yeah – and then I said that even though I strictly, as a rule, never ever ‘do lunch’, I’d love to take you there when next you were free.”

Clarke raises an eyebrow. “And I said yes and it was a date?”

“You and me? I think it was a catastrophic disaster, during which three plates were broken and a chemist cried.”

She very nearly laughs, but Bellamy sees her stop herself. “Like Raven’s New Year’s party?”

“Exactly,” he replies. “And we didn’t speak again until three weeks later, when I was around at Raven’s and it turned out her annoying friend from college was the stubborn blonde I tried to date and almost murdered.”

Clarke smiles, overbearingly soppy. “And you thought it was a sign to ask me out again, so you begged me to give you another chance.”

“Princess, I don’t _beg_.”

“Well, you did then. Like a small child.” When he doesn’t agree, she leans closer. “You don’t get me if you don’t beg.”

Bellamy rolls his eyes. “Fine. You said yes and we got dinner and the rest was history. Literally. Because I need this job.”

The smile on Clarke’s face seems more genuine this time. “And how long ago was all this?”

Bellamy shrugs. “Six months?”

“Sure.”

When their meals arrive, Bellamy notices that the observer at the bar is still doing just that. He waits until they’ve just about finished up before he points it out to Clarke.

“See up there, at the bar? He hasn’t stopped staring over here all night – at you, I presume.” Bellamy shrugs. “I don’t blame him. I would, too, if I wasn’t your boyfriend. It’s got to be the massive stick up your ass.”

Clarke turns back to face him and does not look impressed. “Hilarious, Bellamy. Maybe you should kiss me.”

He almost spits out the last of his drink. “ _Princess_.”

“Well, if you were actually my boyfriend, would you be okay with that?”

Bellamy considers it. “I’d trust that you could take him.”

He glances at his own empty plate, then Clarke’s. “Do you want to get out of here?”

She scans the table, then the menu Keenan dropped by earlier detailing the dessert selection. “I don’t think I’ll need chocolate cake, no.”

When they’ve paid – which Bellamy insists on doing himself, even though he knows he’ll potentially be spending a lot on Clarke if the dinner with ARK goes to plan – the two of them venture out into the night. Or, more specifically, down the stretch of road between the restaurant and where Bellamy parked his car.

“Do you want to go home?” he asks Clarke, who pulls a very weather-resistant jacket out of her small handbag and throws it on over her dress.

“I don’t exactly cherish the time I spend with you, Bellamy.”

“Fine,” he replies, because he feels the same about her. Though tonight hasn’t been so bad, really – and Raven was right: Clarke does have great boobs – “But we have to figure everything out before Friday.”

Clarke shrugs. “We’ve figured out our origin story.”

“You just made us sound like the Avengers.”

“Or those terrible, unnecessary Wolverine movies.”

Bellamy laughs. “There really were too many of those. What about Magneto, or the Maximoffs?”

“You’re ridiculous,” says Clarke. “Why am I pretending to be with you?”

“Because I’m desperate and our pretend sex life is great.”

They reach the car, a well-kept, albeit weathered four wheel drive that Octavia won’t let him sell. The streetlamps are being masked by buildings and the occasional tree, so half of the vehicle’s thrown into shadow. Nevertheless, Bellamy opens Clarke’s door for her and then circles around to his own.

“Not that I think pretending to date you will lead to a murder,” says Bellamy, pushing the keys into the ignition, “but what if some bigwig asks us about detailed shit and our stories don’t match up?”

Clarke thinks about it. “I think all good lies have a basis in truth.”

“The only ‘truth’ about our current situation, Clarke, is that we hate each other almost as much as we’re pretending to love each other.”

She snorts as they begin off down the street. “I still need to know about your work, though. If I’m versed in whatever it is you spend your time doing, you’ll seem all the more passionate about it.”

“I _am_ passionate about it!” Bellamy protests, but he agrees with her. “Maybe things should go both ways. What if someone asks me about the DA’s office?”

Clarke works for the District Attorney, when she isn’t painting every wall of her house and annoying the hell out of Bellamy. She’s one of two people he’s met from the DA’s office, though the other one isn’t much different from her. Lexa, or “The Commander” as everyone calls her – the explanation behind which requires going into detail about a party Raven held, way back in her freshman year of college – is smart, like Clarke, and she’s terrifying, like Clarke, and she’s calculating and strong and pragmatic, like Clarke, but there’s a black and white aspect of Lexa’s world view that Bellamy doubts Clarke shares.

He’s not sure why he thinks of Lexa as he drives Clarke home, but he can’t help it.

He also can’t help the fact that Clarke’s voice breaks through his reverie, clear and pronounced.

“Then you tell them I’ve been working there since I left college – which they’ll like, because it’s not an easy thing to do. I was originally doing PreMed,” Clarke adds, “but circumstances changed and leadership opportunities opened up and PoliSci was the way to go, the way to excel, the way to survive.”

Bellamy can’t stop himself smiling a bit at that. “Princess is a survivor?”

“ _Princess_ ,” Clarke says through her teeth, “is a lot more than you think. She also needs you to drop her off at Raven’s.”

“Skipping the part where I kiss you goodnight and going straight to the part where you tell all your friends about it, huh?”

Clarke rolls her eyes – and _God_ , the girl must have a propensity for it, because as Bellamy changes lanes, he realises that’s all she ever does when she’s with him. She rolls her eyes, or chews her teeth, or groans or snaps or shouts at him. There’s no way they’re ever going to be able to pull this off.

“I tell you what,” he proposes when an idea occurs to him, “why don’t we catch up again before the gala, just to make sure we’ve got everything covered?”

“I thought you were more the type to shrug and wing it.”

“I am,” he admits, the sides of his mouth twitching upwards again. “But this is like PoliSci, Princess. This is survival.”


	2. Caught By Surprise

Bellamy drops Clarke off at Raven’s apartment, not bothering to make the trip up the elevator to say hello. Clarke says goodnight and ventures inside alone, where she barely reaches the threshold before Raven throws open the door.

“How was it?” she asks Clarke, a breathy smile on her face. “I see you’re still alive.”

“Barely,” Clarke deadpans, clunking into the apartment. She sets her bag down on the couch. “No, it was actually alright.”

“No plates thrown?”

Clarke shakes her head.

Raven looks impressed. “ _Wow_. You’re evolving.”

“Yeah, maybe,” says Clarke, though she doubts it.

Raven pads back to the kitchen area of the open floor plan, wearing an athletic-type tank top and shorts. She must have changed after work, though this is pretty much a uniform for Raven. Clarke follows her through the living room, taking a seat on one of the stools on the lounge side of the island in the middle of the kitchen. A thought occurs to her.

“Apart from the fact he’s a massive ass, why would you say we hate each other?”

“You and Bellamy?” Raven clarifies, picking up an apple from the fruit bowl and biting into it as Clarke nods. “I don’t know. I thought it was a shared stubbornness, and the leadership complex – plus, you know, the weird sexual tension.”

Clarke stares at her. “There is _not_ sexual tension.”

Raven doesn’t even swallow her bite of apple before she says, “Clarke, you are _insane_. You’re like a forty-six-year-old soccer mom, except you probably drink more and a soccer mom would jump on the chance to fake-date Bellamy Blake.”

“That whole argument made no sense.”

Clarke feels something soft against her leg and glances down. There’s a black coat folded haphazardly on the bar stool beside her. She picks it up and turns to Raven. “Is this new?”

“Oh, God, I forgot that was there!” Raven pulls out her phone – it was somewhere hidden away in the tininess of her shorts – and types a message to someone-or-other.

Clarke raises an eyebrow. “Who…?”

“My friend must’ve left it here when she went home after dinner,” says Raven vaguely, and her phone buzzes twice. The first message, Clarke notices, leaves a small, warm smile on Raven’s face; the second makes her laugh.

“Who’s that you’re texting?” Clarke asks, beginning to identify with a forty-six-year-old soccer mom.

Raven bites her lip to keep from grinning. “Bellamy. He says I was right.”

“About what?”

“Your great boobs,” Raven tells her, chuckling. “And the fact you’re the perfect girl for the job.”

Choosing to ignore the first half of her friend’s statement, Clarke replies, “Dating Bellamy is a _chore_ , and you guilt-tripped me into it. _You_ know that, _I_ know that – ”

“You’re doing a good thing, though, Clarke… helping him out. You know that, right?”

Clarke raises an eyebrow at Raven’s serious expression. “I do.”

Raven nods, setting what’s left of her apple down on the kitchen bench. “I’m serious, because this job would be perfect for Bellamy: it’s international and it’s classical history and it’s good money and he can see O when he’s back here, and… why are you looking at me like that, Clarke?”

Clarke’s narrowed eyes skate over Raven’s face. “Why do you say ‘good money’ like that?”

“Like what?” Raven asks, but Clarke can tell she knows. After a few moments and a heavy sigh, Raven says, “Just so you know, the real reason Bellamy has issues with you is the whole have/have-not thing. I know it’s not your fault,” she adds quickly, when Clarke begins to react, “but from what I’ve gathered, Bellamy didn’t have the easiest time growing up.”

“What, with his sister?”

“Octavia?” Raven smiles. “He practically raised her.”

“What?” Clarke says again.

Raven shakes her head. “It’s not my story to tell. But I _will_ say that their dad – or _dads_ , plural – wasn’t around, and their mom worked a lot. She passed away when Bell was halfway through college, and he was going to leave to take care of O but she forced him to stay. She moved in with him and got her qualifications done and that paid off, because  _he_ graduated top of his class and _she’s_ at Brown. So any form of stability wouldn’t go amiss in that family.”

“Is that why he calls me ‘Princess’? Because my life’s been nothing but smooth sailing?”

Raven reaches a hand across the bench and takes Clarke’s. “He doesn’t know any better, Clarke. He doesn’t know about your dad, or Wells, or…” she falters. They both do.

“You’re right,” says Clarke, filling the space in the air before it can consume her. She squeezes Raven’s hand before letting it go and dusting off her already spotless dress. “Now that we’ve covered the tragedies of mine and Bellamy’s existences, can we talk about something else?”

Raven nods. “Anything you like.” Then her phone buzzes again. “Still Bellamy,” she explains, faking a snore. “He’s wondering if you and I have any free time tomorrow, so we can work on the cover story.”

Clarke furrows her eyebrows. “We _have_ our cover story.”

“I suspect it needs ironing out and that’s why he’s suggesting we meet up.”

Supposing that Raven is correct, Clarke mentally checks her schedule and replies, “I don’t have any plans over lunchtime.”

Raven snorts. “Bellamy hates the idea of ‘doing lunch’. I’m pretty damn sure he mentioned that to you as well.”

“He did,” Clarke admits, smiling. “I could ‘do dinner’ then, instead.”

Raven raises her eyebrows. “Dinner with Bell two nights in a row? You two really _are_ dating.”

“You’re so funny. I’m cackling with laughter. My voice has never been less of a monotone. I’m not being sarcastic.”

“Sure, Clarke.”

*

Bellamy parks on the curb in front of Raven’s apartment building, not even noticing the smartly dressed blonde walking down the street until they’re in step together. Clarke’s still in her work clothes, a white button-down shirt tucked into a pencil skirt, expensive yet practical high heels – as practical as high heels can be – on her feet. The height difference between she and Bellamy has significantly decreased, and when he points this out, all Clarke says is, “That’s good. I don’t have to look up your nose anymore.”

They take the elevator up to Raven’s but collide with her on the way into her apartment.

“You’re eager to leave, Raven,” Clarke notes. “Is everything okay?”

Pulling on her left shoe, Raven replies, “Yes, Clarke, everything is _awesome_ – no _Lego Movie_ references, Bellamy – ”

“ – I did _not_ watch _The Lego Movie_ – ”

“ – you totally did – you, me, and Miller – opening weekend.” Raven turns to Clarke. “Your fake boyfriend’s a total dweeb.”

She straightens up, runs a hand across the part of her hair sleeked back into a ponytail, and faces them both. “Something’s come up and I can’t hang out with you guys tonight but – don’t look so crestfallen, Clarke – there are two tickets on my fridge to this indie gig at The Dropship. Take them, go on a date, figure out your shit, then call me tomorrow morning!”

With that and a punch to Bellamy’s arm, Raven jumps into the elevator, leaving her two friends alone at the door of her apartment. Clarke looks at Bellamy.

“Do you feel like there’s something she’s not telling us?”

Bellamy raises an eyebrow. “Have you heard she’s seeing someone?”

By the expression on her face, Bellamy guesses that _no_ , Raven has not divulged this particular detail to Clarke.

“Yeah, that’s how I felt, too,” he says gruffly, pointing at Clarke so aggressively he almost pokes her in the face. His eyes flit into the apartment behind them. “Do you want to go to that thing at The Dropship, then?”

Clarke bites her lip, but very quickly says, “sure, yeah, why not?”

So that is the story of, how one hour later, Bellamy and Clarke find themselves standing in a small club-type venue fit for about a hundred people. There aren’t nearly a hundred there, and the music twangs at a frequency Bellamy would eventually describe as ‘an acquired taste’. After ten minutes and half of the band’s third song, he leans over to Clarke and says, “Yeah, this is pretty crap.”

She sighs heavily and nods. “I can’t argue with you there.”

“I know a cool jazz bar down by the museum,” he tells her. “Do you want to check that out instead?”

Clarke looks confused. “Bellamy Blake likes jazz?”

“I’m full of surprises.”

“Can you dance?” she asks, and he’s thrown.

“Well enough for my sister, I guess. She used to dance a lot. Mostly I was just there to twirl her,” he confesses. “But I can cook pretty well.”

Clarke laughs. “Oh, jeez – I can’t. I burn anything I come across, water included.”

“And you were doing _PreMed_?”

She laughs again and shoves him. Without a verbal signal, they both begin to head towards the door.

“That’s different,” Clarke protests.

“How?”

“Treating a stab wound is easier than cooking spaghetti Bolognese, for one.”

Bellamy blinks at her. “You’re kidding.”

She shakes her head almost proudly.

They venture back to Bellamy’s car, and he repeats the act of opening Clarke’s door for her, but once they’re both seated and on their way, he can’t let her confession go.

“That is ridiculous – you know that, right? What am I supposed to do two nights from now? ‘Hello, Doctor Kane. This is my girlfriend, Clarke. She can treat any stab wound you like and nab the twelve-year-old who did it, but God forbid you need a decent meal.’”

Clarke giggles (for a moment, Bellamy is shocked she hasn’t punched him). “‘Yes, Doctor’ – what is it? – ‘ _Kane_. You should definitely hire Bellamy. He knows as much about jazz as he does about history, and he moonlights as a member of the Blake Family Dance Crew. I am _so_ in love with him.’”

Bellamy glances sidelong at her as they speed down the road. “You’re _so_ in love with me, huh?”

“I can’t hate you all the time.”

He finds himself smiling. “No, I’m too good a dancer.”

The jazz bar is packed, and the band playing is rife with enthusiasm. Bellamy has always imagined Clarke as the type to favour either classical music or bubblegum pop, or both, because she absolutely could, but he notices her swaying like a pulse with the sweetest of smiles on her face and thinks maybe jazz is good, too.

“You know, they say jazz is less about listening and more about feeling,” he says into her ear.

Her previously closed eyes open and find his. “‘They’?”

“Alright, alright, _I_.”

Clarke’s smile grows. “That’s…”

“Pretentious?” Bellamy offers, and he knows that it is, because everybody’s said it.

Clarke doesn’t. She shakes her head and replies in a soft voice. “No, I think it’s honest.”

He smiles, and it’s not the first time, and when he realises this he’s caught off-guard. Is he _enjoying himself_? With _Clarke Griffin_? To cover it up, he checks the time on his watch. “Getting sentimental, Princess? The clock hasn’t even got to double digits yet.”

She rolls her eyes at him. Back to normal.

*

“You’ve _got_ to stop treating this like a dinner-and-a-taxi service, Princess.”

Clarke undoes her seatbelt, because Bellamy has driven her home even after they ended up dancing at the jazz bar, and she learned that he really _is_ a good dancer, and he learned that she is probably much less so, unless childhood ballet classes count. And now he’s smiling at her – properly smiling – and Clarke doesn’t think it’s the couple of drinks they had between them, but she's _actually had fun_  with Bellamy Blake. She pokes her tongue out at him.

“You’ve got to stop letting me.”

Bellamy nods. “Yeah, sure, whatever.”

Clarke opens the door of the passenger seat and has just about climbed out before she turns back to him. “Thanks for tonight, Bellamy.”

He catches the genuine nature of her tone and he nods again. “Same to you, Princess.”

“I’ll see you at the gala, then?”

“I’ll pick you up beforehand,” Bellamy offers. “It starts at seven, so I’ll be here around half past six. Does that suit you?”

Clarke smiles. “Sounds wonderful. Oh, and just so you know,” she adds, “I added my number to your Contacts when you were getting our drinks.”

Bellamy looks at her. “Princess, that’s kind of creepy.”

“Well, at least now you can call me if plans change,” says Clarke, stepping out of the vehicle, “or if they don’t.”

“Right.” Bellamy purses his lips. “Six-thirty on Friday night – don’t forget or try to cook something.”

Clarke sighs, but somewhat fondly. “I’ll leave that kind of stuff to you.”

“See you Friday, Princess.”

“See you Friday.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter two, out of the way! The gala is next chapter, as is the introduction of a few familiar faces... hope you guys enjoyed this tiny little nugget of next-to-nothing, and that it wasn't too clumsy (I wrote it really fast, but I'm not fussed enough to change anything). See you next update!


	3. The Gala

Clarke is looking herself up and down in the full length mirror near her door when she hears Bellamy’s voice coming from the hallway. He’s on time, and on his phone, apparently – talking to Miller, of all people.

“Yes, if there are any hot palaeontologists, I’ll set you up,” he says with a laugh. Miller responds but Clarke can’t hear it. “No, I guarantee I’ll be too focused on my date for that to happen.”

Clarke bites back a smile and checks her appearance again – would a historian date her? She’s got her hair in a messy chignon at the nape of her neck, and her make-up highlights her eyes perfectly – not to mention she’s dug out that dress her mother bought her back in college, a crisp white, knee-length number with matching heels. Her mother bought her those, too, and they’re expensive enough to have bright red soles. Hopefully Bellamy appreciates the touch, though she doubts it. But, hey, if he wants to paint her as a princess, then she’ll make sure to rule.

“Yeah, I found someone!” Bellamy is telling Miller almost excitedly. “Clarke Griffin!”

Clarke can hear Miller’s surprised curse through the telephone on the other side of the door. She picks up her purse and opens the door just as Bellamy says, “No, I’m sure things will be fine.”

She grabs the phone right out of her fake boyfriend’s grasp and tells Miller, “Things will be more than fine. They’ll be _awesome_. Night, Nathan.”

Then she ends the call and turns to Bellamy, who is staring at her. “Ready to go?”

He clears his throat and looks up at her. “Yes – yeah. You clean up good, Princess.”

Clarke takes a second to investigate Bellamy, from the curls at the top of his head to his well-tailored suit to the shoes on his feet. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

He smirks at her, then wraps an arm around her waist. “From now on, I love you.”

She gives him her best smile. “And I, you, Bellamy Blake.”

*

ARK Enterprises has no lack of funds, so their choice of swanky venue comes with the territory – a high-ceilinged ballroom with doors opening out onto a lush patio, big enough to host a wedding ceremony for the Ritziest of couples. In fact, it probably has, once or twice. Bellamy parks his car a block or so away and he and Clarke walk. They go over their plans, what they’ll say if somebody asks so-and-so question, until they’re at the door and his hand wraps once again around her waist – like clockwork.

The first person to approach them is a tall, strong-featured, dark-haired man – Doctor Kane. He gives Bellamy a firm handshake. “How are you, son?”

“I’m good, thanks. Happy to be here. Oh,” Bellamy adds, with a glance from his potential employer to the girl standing next to him, “Doctor Kane, this is my girlfriend, Clarke.”

Clarke extends a hand. “Nice to meet you, Doctor Kane. I’ve heard so much.”

“All good things, I hope,” says Doctor Kane, shaking Clarke’s hand, “and, please, call me ‘Marcus’.”

Clarke smiles back at him and there’s a moment of comfortable silence before someone across the room calls, “Marcus – we need your opinion on humanism in the Renaissance period!” and Doctor Kane bids Bellamy and Clarke adieu to go and discuss it.

“Well, that started off okay,” Bellamy mutters to Clarke.

She chuckles. “Is it just me or was that a very particular topic of conversation?”

“What, Renaissance humanism?”

“Yeah – doesn’t it just sound contrived?” She mimics the voice of the person who called on Kane. “‘Hey, I’m just gonna shout to a company exec across a crowded room so that everybody will know the elaborate detail of the conversation we’re about to have. This is _such_ a good time!’”

Bellamy rolls his eyes, but his lips are curved upward. “You’re not _wrong_.”

“I’m never wrong, Bellamy,” Clarke says seriously, meeting his gaze. “First rule of our relationship.”

Again, Bellamy rolls his eyes. “First rule of our relationship, _Princess_ , is that _who we are_ and _who we need to be_ , to survive in this particular situation, are two completely different things.”

“Well, that’s true. I can’t stand you when we’re not together.”

“ _Ouch_ , Blake! Your girlfriend’s hardcore!”

Bellamy turns to see who has spoken and immediately a tired-parent-with-toddler expression forms on his face.

“Clarke Griffin, meet Jasper Jordan. He’s got an internship in the ARK forensics lab that he’s hoping to turn into a fulltime job. Jasper, this is Clarke – she works for the DA’s office.”

Jasper, the kind of guy who hugs you when he sees you, beams at Clarke. “That must be fun, solving cases and stuff. How’d you end up with old Crankyface Blake here?”

Bellamy and Clarke exchange a glance.

“Pure luck.”

“A Swiss surrealist.”

The brunette with Jasper furrows her eyebrows. “A Swiss surrealist?” she asks Clarke.

The blonde nods. “Oppenheim. The gallery downtown had one of her pieces a few months back, and that’s how I met Bellamy – he was arguing with an attendant.”

“Let’s be clear that I was right,” Bellamy interjects.

“Wait, not the one funded by Wallace and Co.?” Jasper’s date clarifies.

“That very one,” says Clarke.

Jasper is grinning again. “That’s so funny! Maya works there!”

Bellamy and Clarke exchange yet another glance, this one a little more panicked. Bellamy’s hand tightens on Clarke’s waist.

“Oh, do you?” Clarke exclaims, her eyes lighting up. She moves from Bellamy’s side and puts a hand on the brunette’s – Maya’s – arm. “That is crazy.” She turns back to Bellamy and Jasper. “I’m going to steal Maya for a little while. You two try not to cause a riot.” She leans closer to Jasper. “I’m talking more to him than you. Keep him in check, won’t you?”

Jasper puffs his chest out. “It would be an honour, ma’am.”

Clarke nods fervently then sends Bellamy a wink. “I’ll catch up with you later.”

So this is their strategy – divide and conquer.

*

Once Jasper has departed, Bellamy finds himself in conversation with a girl named Harper, who he’s worked with before. She doesn’t seem to like Jasper very much. Bellamy can’t tell if he agrees.

“Who’s the blonde you’re with, then?” Harper asks, sipping at the champagne she plucked from a passing catering tray. “She looks expensive. Did you notice the Louboutins?”

As someone with a sister like Octavia, Bellamy has a hard time not noticing distinctive shoe brands. Then again, he hasn’t really been looking at Clarke’s _feet_.

“That’s Clarke,” he says. She’s still talking to Maya, and now Jasper, who has just brought them all drinks.

“Girlfriend?” Harper asks.

“How’d you know?”

“The tone of your voice,” she tells him. “Plus, Connor and John were talking about it earlier.”

Bellamy knits his eyebrows together. “Murphy’s here?”

Harper laughs. “No, he’s still searching for that new power source Jaha’s always banging on about. John _Mbege_.”

“Oh – shit – where the hell is he? Mbege’s the _best_ – ”

Harper shrugs. “I think he left with Fox.” She notices Clarke making her way over. “ _Speaking_ of foxy… nice to meet you, Clarke. I’m Harper.”

Clarke grins, wrapping an arm around Bellamy’s torso. “Tell me you work for ARK, or want to.”

“Bit of both,” says Harper. “Why?”

“Everyone I’ve met has been male, and it’s not doing great things for diversity.”

Bellamy raises his eyebrows. “I’m right here.”

“And _I’m_ right, here, aren’t I?” Clarke protests.

“Whatever the hell you want, Princess,” says Bellamy, pretending to be tired of the debate, pretending there isn’t a weird tingly feeling where Clarke has her arm around him. He addresses Harper and Clarke, who are both holding empty champagne glasses. “I’ll take those and grab us some more, then we can toast to feminism. How about that?”

*

Clarke knows she told Raven her dad used to work for a company _like_ ARK Enterprises, but the reality of it is that Jake Griffin _worked for_ ARK Enterprises. If she didn’t have such a deep sense of duty, either to herself or to Bellamy, she would have started running as soon as her eyes fell upon Thelonious Jaha. That put the icing on the cake: just when things were bearable enough to pretend to be Bellamy Blake’s girlfriend, the universe had to throw Clarke’s dead best friend’s father into the mix. Not to mention the fact that the aforementioned dead best friend’s father is her dead dad’s ex-business partner. To cut a long story short – she isn’t happy to see him. And he seems quite surprised to see her. She wishes she hadn’t left Bellamy and the other pair he was introducing her to.

“Clarke?” Thelonious asks, as if there’s anyone else she could be. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m not an archaeologist,” she says quickly. “I’m here with Bellamy Blake.”

For good measure, Clarke nods in the direction of her fake boyfriend, who is in the midst of a conversation with the double act known as Monroe and Sterling. Bellamy seems to have a penchant for using people’s last names.

Thelonious glances across the room at him. “Oh – Marcus mentioned his impressive file.”

“That’ll be Bellamy.” (She can’t help but feel a little proud of him.)

Thelonious raises his eyebrows. “Is he your…?”

The word floats in the air between them, echoing in what is not said. _More than Wells was._ More than Wells ever could have been. Clarke’s breath catches in her throat.

“Yes,” she manages.

Thelonious looks confused. “Abby hasn’t mentioned…”

“Mom doesn’t know,” says Clarke. “She and I haven’t… had much contact, the past couple of years.” Her eyebrows furrow. “But you knew that.”

Just like her earlier encounter with Marcus Kane, somebody calls out for Thelonious. He hears them, but does not make to leave Clarke.

“You don’t mind?” he asks, pointing in the direction of his next conversation.

“No,” says Clarke, who still feels like she’s drowning, “go ahead. I should get back to Bellamy anyway.”

*

He must notice something is up with her because the happy smile melts right off his face. He moves away from Monroe and Sterling and catches her with a hand on each arm. “Clarke, what’s wrong?”

She decides that, as a rule, she will _not_ cry in front of Bellamy Blake on what is potentially the biggest evening of his life. “Nothing. I’m fine, I just – I know your boss. Jaha.”

“Oh…” says Bellamy, a little confused, “you do?”

“My dad’s old business partner,” she says. “I was really good friends with his son.”

Bellamy nods. “Right.”

They take another round of the room, during which Bellamy glances at Clarke a lot and half of it isn’t to convince anyone else. He’s spoken to bigwigs and up-and-comers and his rivals, and Clarke seems to have stumbled upon one or two of hers. After a moment of charged silence, Bellamy leans closer and whispers in her ear, “are you sure you’re okay?”

Clarke pulls away and faces him. “Yeah, of course. I’m fine.”

“Because we’ve been here long enough, and I’ve talked to everybody I need to – we can leave, if you want. Go get dinner or something.”

She narrows her eyes. “Why are you doing this?”

“Oh, I don’t know, because you’ve done a nice thing for me and now I want to help you out?”

_Because you look like you’re falling apart._ He doesn’t say it but she can tell. He’s giving her an out and she’s ruining his evening and he’s _Bellamy Blake_ and he shouldn’t be being so sweet to her.

“Come on, Princess,” he says a few moments later, his tone much more casual. He slings an arm around her shoulders. “Let’s go get take-out and listen to upbeat pop music.”

“Why is that the recipe for success?” she asks.

“I don’t know. Guess it always works.” 

*

It turns out that Bellamy Blake knows all the words to at least half of Taylor Swift’s album _1989_. He tells Clarke that this is because he has a sister, and that she left the CD in his car once, but when Clarke’s singing along to _Out of the Woods_ , Bellamy joins her at the bridge with the most enthusiasm she has ever seen him give anything. Her fake boyfriend is a Taylor Swift fan.

“In all fairness,” says Bellamy, when they’ve stopped the car on the side of the road and are unpacking their takeaways, “any other music you find in here is going to be The Cure or Kanye. Taylor is my one lapse into heavy pop culture. _Why are you smiling at me_?”

“Because it’s sweet,” she says. “How you think you have to defend yourself to me.”

“You can’t go misrepresenting me, Princess. I have a reputation in this town.”

“A reputation as a massive ass, maybe.”

He glowers at her. “I like you way better when you’re getting me a job.”

“You could have done that yourself, Bellamy.” She looks over at him. “You don’t need me for that.”

“I always need you, Princess,” he says absently, digging to the bottom of his plastic bag in search of something: an eating utensil, maybe, or the reason he just said what he said – out loud – to Clarke Griffin. Especially while _This Love_ is playing. Oh, God.

She won’t want to talk about what happened with Jaha, but Bellamy knows something did. He decides not to bring it up until she does, even if that’s never.

They eat and talk about practically nothing and then he drives her home.

When Bellamy pulls onto the curb, they exchange a glance.

“Thanks for doing this, Clarke.” He hopes she understands just how sincerely he means it.

She smiles at him. “Is this it, then? Now that we’ve faked our way through the gala? Do you need anything else?”

Bellamy shrugs. “There’s a dinner next week, but I doubt you’ll need to be there. Now everybody’s met you and they know how incredible you are, things should go off without a hitch.”

“It’s funny when you say that,” Clarke murmurs, “because it sounds like you spent tonight selling me and not yourself.”

“An enthusiastic fake boyfriend never hurt anyone, did they?”

Clarke shakes her head. “Not in tonight’s context.”

She gathers up her empty take-out container and her purse, puts one hand on the door handle, then turns to Bellamy once more. “I’ll see you when I see you, then?”

He half-smiles. “Not if I see you first.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first round of their ruse is complete... but just because they've got through the gala, doesn't mean things are letting up for these two any time soon. If you want, hit me up on Tumblr. I'm never not scrolling through the Bellarke tag. (I'm charlottebrontate there!) P.S. I know I haven't explained about Jake or Wells or Finn just yet. All in good time, my friends. All in good time.


	4. Ruse Continues

As has grown customary on Friday nights, Clarke finds herself at Raven’s watching movies. The audience has increased: what was originally just Clarke and Raven has grown to five, with Miller and Monty and even Lexa tagging along. Now the quintet is huddled together in the living room, with Clarke, Raven, and Lexa on the couch, and Monty and Miller on the floor in front of them. It’s a cramped excuse for a comfy couch, because Raven pulls her legs up and has them half laid onto Lexa, and there really isn’t that much space for Clarke in the first place, but they manage to fit.

The film is almost halfway through, after a ridiculously long period of bickering over what genre to choose. A comedy is always safe, so they go for that, and the majority of them like sarcasm and subtlety, so their brands of comedy are catered to.

There’s a general rule on Friday nights that no one is allowed to use their phone until after the movie has finished, and it’s a rule that Clarke has implemented at least seventeen times. Miller is usually the worst offender. Sometimes he gets bored partway through and starts looking up _Breaking Bad_ trivia. Raven is next worst, though she’s the fastest to kick someone in the head for sending a text. So when Clarke’s phone starts ringing, it’s not well-received.

“I fucking swear – you’ll have to apologise to Paul Rudd when you’ve ignored that call.”

Clarke pays Miller no heed, pulling out her phone and seeing the Caller ID. “Shoot. I actually have to take this. It’s Bellamy,” she tells Raven, standing from her place on the couch. “Don’t bother pausing the movie – this shouldn’t be long.”

She pads across the room and out of earshot, but not before Monty voices his confusion as to why Clarke is taking calls from _Bellamy Blake_.

She presses the green button and pulls the phone to her ear.

“Bellamy.”

“Princess, I need you.”

Clarke bites her lip. “Aren’t you at the dinner?”

“Exactly,” says Bellamy, sounding slightly desperate. “I know I said I could probably manage on my own from this point, but I wasn’t counting on everyone having fallen in love with my girlfriend Clarke.”

“I _do_ have that effect on people,” she jokes, before wondering if perhaps now isn’t the time.

“Look, how fast can you get here? Six people have asked where you are, including Kane.”

Clarke narrows her eyes. “Why do you presume I’m going to show up and save your ass?”

“Because you love me,” Bellamy says without hesitation. “And you’re the sort of person who goes out on a limb for the people they love.”

“I stopped pretending to love you last week, Bellamy.”

There’s a pause. “Clarke, _please_.”

She’s a goner.

“Alright, _fine_ – where are you?”

In a voice brimming with relief, Bellamy replies, “The fancy Station place two blocks from Raven’s.”

Clarke raises her eyebrows, even though she knows he can’t see her. “That’s too perfect. I’m _at_ Raven’s.”

“ _What_? You’re kidding!”

“No, I’m not. I’ll be there in twenty minutes,” she says, “and you had better be waiting for me at the door.”

“Wear something nice,” Bellamy replies in the same tone. Then a moment later he says, “Okay, see you soon, Princess. Love you.”

And Clarke responds with a “love you, too,” even though there’s no one around to pretend for.

*

“So what did Bellamy want?” Raven asks over the back of the couch as Clarke returns.

“I’m meeting him at the Station in twenty minutes,” she says gravely. “I’ll need to borrow something of yours.”

Monty and Miller are left successfully nonplussed.

“I wasn’t aware you and Bellamy were friends,” says Lexa with a confused look on her face.

“I’ve ended up his girlfriend, actually,” Clarke replies, not bothering to provide context for what she has just said. She instead launches herself in the direction of Raven’s bedroom and the dark-haired inhabitant of said bedroom follows quickly behind.

“So you’re back to the girlfriend ruse?” Raven surmises as Clarke begins to root through her closet.

“Yes, and he needs me – like, _now_ , so if you can find me a suitable dress, that’d be amazing.”

Raven raises her eyebrows. “I thought you couldn’t stand Bellamy.”

“I can’t,” says Clarke, flicking through the small selection of formal wear Raven owns.

“Then why are you dashing off in the middle of Friday Movie Night to save his ass? You _could_ tell him to get fucked.”

Clarke turns to Raven. “Why are you telling me to bail on your best friend?”

“I’m not!” says Raven. “I’m just _pointing out_ the fact you’re acting like an actual girlfriend.”

Clarke ignores what she knows Raven is implying. “Well, hopefully ARK thinks so.” She pulls out a dress. “This would fit me, wouldn’t it?”

*

Clarke walks up the steps to the doors of the Station and as soon as they open she’s scooped up into a tight hug. Realising from the familiar cologne that it’s Bellamy, she wraps her arms around him and holds on tight.

“Thanks, Princess,” he whispers into her hair.

“I’m missing a really good movie for this, Bellamy,” Clarke mutters back.

“I know,” he says, pulling out of the hug but keeping his arms around her. “And I love you for it.”

She beams up at him. “That’s what I like to hear.”

“Clarke!” somebody calls. “You made it!”

Bellamy and Clarke turn, and it’s Jasper walking towards them.

“Where’s Maya?” Clarke asks when he reaches them, noticing that their friend is companionless.

“She had to work,” Jasper explains. “Big performance art week by that Grounder group – you know, the ones who do rallies for Native American rights and their reservations and stuff? It’s actually really interesting,” he continues, getting distracted, “the one they’re doing at the moment is called Cages – it gets kind of graphic, like people are getting drained of their blood and stuff – imagine the job for the cleaning staff – ”

“ – _Riveting_ , Jasper,” Bellamy interjects. “We’ll have to go check it out sometime.”

Jasper grins. “I’m sure Maya would be happy to see Clarke there. You two really hit it off,” he adds to Clarke.

“Yeah, even though I almost stabbed her with my shoe when it got to talking about her boss,” Clarke jokes.

Bellamy looks down at her with furrowed brows. “Context, Princess?”

Clarke shrugs. “It was do or die.”

“I’m sure it was,” he says with a glance at Jasper. “Now, how about we stop holding everyone up and go sit down?”

This seems like good timing, as they enter the room just as Thelonious Jaha’s fork dings against his wine glass.

“Good evening, everyone. It is such a pleasure to have you with us this evening, in the final stages of our decision-making process.”

As a show of good faith, Clarke reaches along the table to Bellamy, beside her, and takes his hand. He glances at her and gives a small nod, grateful.

“So many of you are impressively qualified, and ARK Enterprises has been so privileged to be given the opportunity to employ such worthy candidates. From your talents as historians in the library, on the scene, and through a microscope, every one of you is instrumental in helping us find the future, in the past.”

A small laugh rolls around the table, and Thelonious nods.

“Now, I am aware that many of you are just here for the free food” – he glances pointedly at Jasper, and everybody chuckles – “so perhaps we had better get that attended to.”

And, just like that, a flurry of attendants and waiters and all points in between appear, carrying trays that they set down on the table, piled high with all kinds of delicious food. Clarke suddenly doesn’t mind missing the Paul Rudd movie.

“Think I could get away with stealing some of this as payback to Raven?” she mutters to Bellamy, a smile on her lips.

He smirks back at her. “I think you could get away with anything in that dress, Princess. If anyone’s having to pay back Raven, it’ll be me.”

Clarke raises an eyebrow. “Have you been checking me out, Mister Blake?”

Bellamy shrugs. “It’s a nice dress.”

Jasper turns to them with a mouth full of food, blessedly oblivious to the situation outside of dinner. “Guyth, thith ith awethome!”

Bellamy laughs. “Yeah, it sure is, buddy.”

Harper, who is sitting on the other side of the table, breaks out of her conversation with Kane. She glances at Bellamy before addressing Clarke.

“I’m _so_ happy you could make it.”

Clarke smiles. "Me, too. I couldn't miss it, what with how enthusiastic this one is about his potential employment," she adds, gesturing to Bellamy. 

“ _This one_ ,” says Harper, mimicking Clarke in both words and gestures, “never stops talking my ear off about you.”

Bellamy doesn’t meet Clarke’s eye when she looks over at him questioningly. She suspects he would say something about playing the part if it was only the two of them in the room – but it’s not just them, and Harper’s waiting for an answer.

“You’re killing my tough guy act, Harper,” Bellamy mutters, voice brimming with mock irritation.

Clarke rolls her eyes. “You’re not a tough guy. You’re a dork. We’ve been over this.”

Jasper laughs. “I’m _so_ not scared of you anymore, Bellamy.”

“Damn it, Princess,” Bellamy says – he even manages to make it sound fond.

John Mbege, beside Harper, snorts. “You’re so fucking whipped, Blake.”

Clarke smirks. “See?” She laughs. “Now, let’s talk history and hopefully stop embarrassing my boyfriend, as fun as that is.”

“You’re right,” says Harper. “It’s really fun.”

“You work for the DA’s Office, right?” Mbege asks Clarke.

“Yes, why?”

“Isn’t the DA, like, _really_ intense and hard to work for?”

Clarke raises her eyebrows. “Anya? At first, I guess – she’s just strong in her convictions, or giving people what they deserve. Which sometimes _leads_ to a conviction.”

She glances at Bellamy, who doesn’t laugh at the pun. She rolls her eyes and continues. “My humour is lost on you – _anyway_ , Anya’s good if you’ve got what she needs. She doesn’t give something for nothing, you know?”

Bellamy laughs now. “Maybe _you_ should be the next DA.”

Jasper leans over the table to Mbege and Harper. “Was that a sex joke?”

Bellamy slaps the back of Jasper’s head. “Eat your spring rolls and shut up, Jordan.”

*

They survive dinner, despite Jasper’s constant commentary and the majority of the group’s enthusiasm about Bellamy and Clarke’s relationship. It’s only when the two of them are leaving – a couple of the remaining few – that things take a turn… though which direction it is in is open for interpretation.

Thelonious, having barely had the opportunity to speak to Clarke all evening, calls out a goodbye as she and Bellamy make their way to the door.

“I hope we’ll be seeing you in Greece, Clarke.”

Clarke stops dead with her arm around Bellamy’s waist. She looks up at him, facing away from Jaha, panicked, and then turns around. “What?”

Thelonious looks confused. “The introductory weekend, welcome to all recruits and their spouses – or, partners. I presumed Bellamy would have…”

“Oh,” says Bellamy, thinking on his feet, “well, I would have, Thelonious, but Clarke is just _so_ busy with work at the moment and – ”

“ – I’m sure I’d be able to take a few days off to go to _Greece_ with my _boyfriend_ and his colleagues…” Clarke tries not to think of the architecture, the sculpture, the beauty of it all, and beams at Thelonious. “It’s the least I can do.”

The older man smiles. “Have a good evening, you two.”

And now that Clarke has commandeered her way to Greece, she thinks she will. Bellamy takes her hand and his grip is tight, clammy. He opens the door for her once when they leave the building and once when she’s climbing into his car, but his jaw is clenched the entire time he’s starting up the car. Eventually, Clarke snaps.

“You know, I’m sorry if you didn’t want me to come to fucking Greece, but I left a group of my best friends – and _yours_ – to come out tonight, without a second thought, and I don’t think I deserve to be treated with this… this fucking… _clench-jawed protest!_ ”

Bellamy glares at her from the driver’s seat. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Clarke.”

“Oh – don’t you? So far, _you’re_ the only one who has benefited from this deal. I intend to make good on my half of the bargain, the part where _I_ get something I want.”

“Good for you,” he says, still in that frustratingly clipped tone.

Clarke stays silent, too angry to speak. She doesn’t even know what she would say that she hasn’t already.

“You know what’s so scary about this, Clarke?”

“What?” she snaps.

“You signing yourself up to come to Greece means five fucking days we have to convince everyone that we’re a couple – _and_ while I’m working, too – ”

“ – then you’ll at least get to do one thing you enjoy, you asshole!” Clarke scowls at him. “Sure, we’ll share a hotel room, but you’ll be out on a dig every day and we’ll probably only hang out at meals and when no one’s around, so don’t worry about having to fucking _like me!_ ”

Bellamy groans. “It’s not that I don’t _like_ you, Clarke, it’s that it’s… I don’t know – this isn’t just a _game_ for me. I’m not going to be a massive ball of sunshine all the time – ”

“ – oh, is _that_ what you are?”

“ – I’m going to be stressed about getting a job and doing well and I just don’t want you to get – ”

His phone chimes, but because he’s driving, he can’t break the law to check who’s texting him. Instead, he says, “Jacket pocket,” and Clarke has to lean over and pull the phone from the inner pocket of his suit jacket. She ignores how tightly the shirt underneath it clings to his pecs.

“It’s from Octavia,” says Clarke, not wanting to read the content without his permission.

He’s softer now. “Oh – what does it say?”

“ _Two weeks from today, for three weeks_ ,” Clarke reads.

Bellamy curses.

“What?”

“O’s timing could _not_ have been worse.”

“I’m still not following.”

Bellamy sighs. “My sister. She’s coming to stay with me while she’s on break from college. Problem is, my apartment’s set for fumigation around the time she’s coming. I mean, I’d go and stay with Miller, but two of us…”

Clarke has an idea. Granted, it’s a ridiculous one, but it’s an idea nonetheless.

“Why don’t you stay with me?”

“…I’m _sorry_ , Princess?”

She groans. “My apartment has a spare room with an en suite bathroom. Octavia can have that room, and you can share mine.”

Bellamy almost chokes on nothing. “ _What_?” he splutters.

“Oh, _please_. Be logical. We’re meant to have been together six months – being in my bed shouldn’t scare you.” Clarke shrugs. “If it does, you can sleep on the couch, but I think that’ll do more harm than good.”

“Are you sure, Clarke?”

She nods. “And Octavia can housesit while we’re in Greece.”

Bellamy raises his eyebrows, still sceptical. “And that’s okay with you? You trust my sister?”

“Well, I trust _you_ , don’t I?”

He goes silent.

“What?” asks Clarke. “What have I said?”

“Nothing,” he says, clearing his throat. “Thanks for the accommodation, Princess.”

She smiles at him, but his eyes are on the road.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, the plot thickens! Enter: Octavia, a trip to Greece, and sharing a bed on both occasions. Also: how brilliant was 2x11, guys? Like, as a whole? Bob's acting is getting more and more outstanding with every passing episode, and a week is almost too long to wait. Hope you enjoyed the chapter!


	5. When His Sister Came To Stay

Raven’s immediate reaction to Bellamy – and by extension Octavia – temporarily moving into Clarke’s apartment is “why don’t you just jump each other and be done with it?”

Bellamy, for it is to him that she speaks, raises his eyebrows. He seems unimpressed but he’s gripping his coffee cup with white knuckles. “It was Clarke or no one, Raven.”

Raven mutters something suspiciously like, “are we still talking about fumigation?” but Bellamy doesn’t press the topic.

Octavia’s flight from Providence arrives in two hours: the approximate start date of Raven’s most recent attempt at a party. This party will, no doubt, consist of Bellamy, Clarke, Raven, Octavia, Monty, Miller, and Lexa, who has been spending a lot more time with them recently – as well as a plethora of people Bellamy doesn’t know well, like this guy Wick and a few girls who like to hit on everybody once they’ve downed their jello shots.

Anyway, Bellamy has decided not to mention staying with Clarke for the express reason that Raven would imply something. Of course there’s nothing there. Clarke Griffin is too rich and too pragmatic and too _goddamn_ strong a woman to want him. And Bellamy… well, Bellamy never saw himself with a chance.

But Raven was bound to find out about Bellamy and Octavia staying at Clarke’s place, so he has cut his losses and told her, with a suitcase and a duffle bag sitting in the trunk of his car. And now she and Bellamy are having coffee.

He’s going to have to leave early to pick up Octavia, who will have even more stuff to add to the selection in the car. Since Clarke’s coming to the party straight from work – arriving with Lexa, too, no doubt – all transportation of bags, and of humans, will be happening much later in the night. Bellamy’s still kind of worried about Octavia in Clarke’s apartment, and Octavia with Clarke, and him in Clarke’s apartment, and him with Clarke.

Greece is approaching – fast – and they’ve barely talked about it. There isn’t much to say, Bellamy has found. He’s also found that it’s getting more difficult to hate her. He’s no good at hating someone who’s doing him a solid – which Clarke _is_ , despite the fact she’s also got ulterior motives, travel-wise. In fact, Clarke’s done him solids thrice over, really, if you count the gala, then dropping everything to come to dinner just because he had freaked out and a few people had asked, then opening up her home to the Blakes. Plural.

Bellamy still finds her more frustrating than anything, but _hate her_? He finds he does not.

“Are you gonna tell O?” Raven asks, swirling a teaspoon around in her coffee and focusing more on it than him.

“Am I gonna tell her what?”

Raven looks up at him, raising her eyebrows. “About you and Clarke.”

Bellamy purses his lips. “First, don’t say that like that.”

“Say _what_ like _what_?”

“You _know_.”

“I never said anything like _anything_ ,” says Raven smugly. “ _You_ are projecting. Because _you_ like Clarke.”

Bellamy sets his jaw. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Yeah,” he says, doing his best to divert the topic of conversation, “I’d better tell O. Clarke and I can’t pretend 24/7.”

Raven chuckles, and when Bellamy inquires as to why, she says, “I’m just thinking about how this will all seem to Octavia. Like, yeah, sure, her brother _needed a fake girlfriend_ for a work thing and now she’s gonna be staying in her spare room while you two are cuddled in bed together – and she’s gonna _housesit_ for Clarke, when you two _go away to Greece_. Don’t you think that makes things weird? Almost like the pretending you’re doing is when you’re _not_ in a relationship?”

He sighs. “It’s not like this situation is all that conventional, Raven.”

“You can say that again,” Raven scoffs.

Before Bellamy can retort, Raven’s phone begins to ring. She pokes her tongue out at him, pulls the mobile from her pocket, and glances quickly at the Caller ID before answering.

“Hey.”

Her voice is lighter, happier – significantly less dry than Bellamy is used to.

“No, it’s fine, I’ve just got Bellamy over.”

“Thanks, Raven,” he mutters sarcastically. She sends him a look like _you know what I mean_.

“Yeah – starts at eight. Don’t worry if you’re early – that might actually work better for me. Although,” she adds, with a devilish smirk on her face, “if you’re late, you’ll have to stay over. No one’s gonna be going as far as you are. So, really, just arrive whenever you like.”

Bellamy raises an eyebrow, and when Raven finishes the call, it’s almost from his expression that he speaks. “Was that the ‘someone’ you’re seeing?”

Raven bites her lip. “Maybe.”

“Are you, I don’t know, gonna tell me anything about him?”

She shrugs. It’s quiet a moment and then she shoots him a cheeky glance. “Who said I’m with a ‘him’?”

*

Every time Bellamy sees Octavia, he swears she’s taller. She’s taller and stronger and smarter, but, God, she’s still little O, who made him give her horsey rides all over their council-sanctioned apartment and who danced to pop songs in the lounge. He throws his arms around her when she gets through Customs and doesn’t want to let go for the next three weeks.

“It’s great to see you, too, big brother – wanna let me breathe anytime soon?”

He laughs, pulling away and allowing her this. When they’re back at the car – “it’s Achilles!” Octavia shouts (the car is named so because it’s sturdy, but the smallest, most random of issues makes the whole thing fall to shit) – and he gets to questioning her about college, she brushes him off with a “nothing’s happened since you Skyped me last night, Bell,” and they get driving to Raven’s.

“By the way,” says Bellamy, keeping his eyes on the road, “I’ve kind of got a pretend girlfriend.”

Octavia raises her perfectly sculpted eyebrows. “What? You… aren’t you a bit old for _that?_ ”

Bellamy sighs. “She’s a _real person_ , O, she’s just… pretending to be my girlfriend, for a work thing.”

“Yeah, still not grasping how that’s less weird than an imaginary girlfriend…”

“You can ask Raven to explain,” he groans. “It was her idea.”

Octavia laughs. “Okay, so who _is_ this girlfriend of yours, then?”

Bellamy removes one hand from the steering wheel and scratches the back of his neck. “Uh… do you by any chance remember Clarke Griffin?”

Octavia’s blue eyes widen like dinner-plates. “ _What?_ You’re pretend-fucking the _Princess?_ I thought you hated her!” Bellamy moves to cut her off, but she continues, muttering, “Honestly, you go off to college for six months and suddenly your brother’s had a personality transplant…”

“ _Relax, O_ ,” says Bellamy, a warm, small smile on his face – the kind of smile specifically reserved for his sister. “Clarke’s not who we thought she was. Well,” he amends, “she’s actually exactly who we thought she was – but she grows on you.”

Again, one of Octavia’s eyebrows quirks upward. “Oh, she does, huh?”

“Stop looking at me like that.”

“Stop looking at you like what? You can’t even see me!”

“I can _hear_ the look you’re giving me, and I’m telling you to stop it.”

She rolls her eyes at him. “So is your precious Princess coming to Raven’s tonight?”

Bellamy nods. “And because my apartment’s filled to the brim with pesticide, you and I are staying with her for the next few weeks.”

Octavia is confused. “Who, Raven?”

“No, Clarke.”

If possible, Octavia is even _more_ confused. “What? Why?”

“Because she has a spare room and a bathroom for you,” says Bellamy in a clipped tone, pulling around the corner and onto Raven’s street. “Not to mention we’re going to Greece for a week anyway, so you’re a convenient house-sitter.”

Octavia is quiet for a moment, before she puts on a fake cheery voice and says, “ _sure, Bell, I’ll house-sit for your fake girlfriend while the two of you are off on a romantic Mediterranean holiday. There’s nothing weird about that_.”

Bellamy rolls his eyes at her, parking the car in front of the door to Raven’s. “When you say it like that, it _does_ sound weird.”

“I told you before it was fucking weird!” Octavia argues. “Where are _you_ sleeping at Princess’s, then?”

Bellamy tries to use climbing out of the car as an excuse not to answer her, but she’s one step ahead and meets him on the sidewalk with two and two already added together.

“Oh, so not only are you hauling your sister along to a stranger’s house – you’re _sharing a bed_ with her, too?” She furrows her eyebrows as the sounds of a motorcycle begin to fill the air. “I wonder: are Clarke’s bedroom walls soundproof?”

The riders of the aforementioned motorcycle park up at the curb just in time to hear Bellamy exclaim, “For the last time, Octavia, I am _not_ fucking Clarke!”

The universe has very little love for Bellamy Blake on this day, or so he feels when the girl on the back of the motorcycle pulls off her helmet and says, “And good afternoon to _you_ , Bellamy.”

Clarke jumps off the bike, shaking her hair out around her shoulders, and joins the Blakes on the pavement. The driver of the motorcycle removes _her_ helmet, and it’s Lexa, and of course it is, because who else comes from the DA’s Office on a fucking motorcycle and still has their eyeliner intact? Lexa runs her hands over the intricate braids in her hair as Octavia meets her eye, then Clarke’s.

Bellamy clears his throat. “Uh – O, this is – ”

“ – Clarke,” the blonde interjects, extending a hand to Bellamy’s sister.

Octavia takes it, smiling politely. “Nice to meet you. I’m Octavia.”

“And you know the Commander, don’t you, O?” Bellamy asks with a glance at Lexa.

Both Lexa and Octavia nod, and the latter says, “Your braids kick ass.”

“Not as much as I do,” Lexa replies, a slight smile playing on her lips. Her eyes dart to the door. “I should get inside – I need to ask Raven a couple of questions before my other guests arrive.”

“Other guests?” Bellamy asks Clarke as Lexa disappears upstairs.

Clarke shrugs. “She didn’t mention anything to me.”

*

It turns out that Lexa’s ‘other guests’ are members of the performance art group currently based at Wallace & Co. Clarke spends the majority of the evening darting between the Grounders and her friends, who are either too nervous to approach the group Monty describes as ‘a bilingual grunge Olympian team’. Miller sits on the couch with Bellamy and they discuss sports stats and Kanye’s latest single, but the subject diverts altogether when Monty squeezes in beside Nathan and Bellamy starts feeling like he’s interrupting something. Lexa and Raven have been deep in conversation all night, and it’s only when Bellamy sees them standing beside each other, watching Lexa braid Octavia’s hair, that he notices Raven’s usual ponytail is braided along the scalp as well. He shrugs. Perhaps that’s in with girls. He’ll have to ask Clarke.

As if her ears were burning, Clarke sidles up to him when he’s standing by the window.

“You know, Raven talked to me earlier and she said we should act more like a couple.”

Bellamy raises his eyebrows, ignoring what feels like a blush creeping up his neck. He clenches his jaw. “What?”

Clarke laughs. “That’s what _I_ said. She told me that people would think it was weird if we were totally standoffish with each other and then a couple of weeks later ran off to a romantic island in Greece.”

Bellamy chuckles. “Easy, Clarke. People will think we’re eloping.”

“You _would_ get married in Greece,” Clarke supposes, half rolling her eyes.

“What, and you wouldn’t?”

Clarke smiles dryly. “I never said that.”

Bellamy nods, triumphant. “That’s right. But now, Princess, don’t go expecting me to propose to you on a beach in Santorini…”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” says Clarke, before she gets interrupted by a sharp, pronounced, “Clarke!” from the other side of the room.

She turns around. It’s Lexa, braiding yet another section of Octavia’s hair without even having to look. “Do you remember the mascot competition our MUN held?”

Clarke nods. “Hard to forget a gorilla with anger management problems,” she calls back.

Lexa turns – “Did I not say there was a gorilla?” – to Raven, who is laughing so hard there are almost tears in her eyes.

“I thought you were kidding! You’ve gotta admit sounds like a load of crap,” she argues, her breathing still not quite back to normal.

Bellamy grabs Clarke’s attention again with, “Wait, you went to school with Lexa?”

Clarke smiles, leaning closer when the Grounders behind them start to laugh – it’s a loud, foreign sound. “We lived in the same area – did MUN and stuff together, and councils.” She glances back to Lexa, who has finished Octavia’s hair and is now smiling at the girl’s delighted expression in the mirror that Raven is holding up. “We were pretty good friends.”

“Does she know Jaha’s son, too?”

And now there’s something hard in Clarke’s eyes that Bellamy can’t quite place. “She knew _of_ him,” she says, “but that was it.”

Bellamy leans closer to her, trying to meet her gaze. “Look, I’m sorry if I said something – ”

“ – You didn’t,” says Clarke in a tone that makes Bellamy think he _did_. “Don’t worry.”

After deciding to let this slide, Bellamy says, “you know, you should go enjoy yourself. Don’t stay holed up in the corner talking to me – we’re roomies for the next few weeks anyway. You deserve a night off.”

Clarke smiles at him. “Same goes for you, Bellamy.”

*

Clarke goes and talks to Raven and Lexa and Octavia and Bellamy gets himself a drink. He can’t get drunk, because he’s driving, and he’s always been careful with O, he’s trained himself to be, but Raven really has no selection and oh wait there’s someone talking to him.

“Sorry, I didn’t understand that…”

The striking Grounder is glaring at him through her hair. “I _said_ , can you move? I need a fucking drink.”

Bellamy blinks at her, before setting his jaw. He steps away from the massive cooler Raven has set up on the bench and allows the girl to grab her fucking drink.

“I’m Echo,” she says gruffly, once she has a cold glass bottle in her hand.

“Bellamy.”

In a tone most disappointed: “Oh – you’re a friend of Lexa’s – ”

He cuts her off with a nod. “Just so you know, _that_ ” – he points to a near-empty bottle of Monty’s glowing moonshine mix – “is way better than whatever shitty organic beer you guys are drinking over there.”

Echo could win awards for looking dangerous. She leans forward and raises her eyebrows at him.

“Seriously,” says Bellamy. “It could fell an empire but it’ll get you where you wanna be.”

Echo’s eyes dart over him, investigating. “Where do _you_ want to be, Bellamy?”

“Something tells me you already know what answer you want,” he replies in a low voice, his eyes meeting hers.

“Maybe.” She glances to the moonshine. “If it’s so great, why aren’t _you_ drinking it?”

Bellamy shrugs. “Shouldn’t drink and drive.”

“I’m just down the street,” says Echo. “No driving required.” Her eyes narrow. “Unless you’re here with someone.”

Bellamy pauses, his eyes darting over to where Clarke is standing with his sister, admiring O’s butterfly tattoo. She got it when she was sixteen and really into watercolour tats and even when Bellamy had expressed a concern about it she had gone and had it done anyway. Clarke looks up suddenly, catching Bellamy’s eye. After a moment, she gives him a small smile, which he can’t help but return.

Echo purses her lips. “I see.” She pats Bellamy on the arm rather gruffly. “Thanks for the battery acid, Bellamy.”

“What?”

But when Bellamy tears his eyes away from Clarke and Octavia, Echo has already disappeared.

*

It’s past midnight when Bellamy grabs a bottle-opener from Clarke’s hand. “O’s about to crash,” he says by way of greeting and explanation.

Clarke raises her eyebrows. “What do you mean? She’s fine – look, she’s with those Grounders – ”

“ – I don’t really think it’s a smart choice to do body shots with the winners of the dreadlock Olympics, Princess,” he says dryly, adding, “and anyway, I know O. In five minutes, she’s gonna be complaining about wanting to sleep. It’s a fifteen-minute drive to your place, so we may as well get a head start.”

Not willing to doubt Bellamy’s analysis, Clarke replies with a slow nod. “Okay, I’ll go say goodbye to Monty and stuff.”

“Sure, I’ll grab O. Wait, what the fuck, where is she?”

Clarke grips his arm and tilts him in the right direction. “She’s over there with your girlfriend.”

Bellamy raises an eyebrow. “That’s ridiculous. _You’re_ my girlfriend.”

She fakes a laugh. “Ha, so funny. That girl who was flirting with you earlier. _There_.”

As if to illustrate her point, Clarke pokes her fingers towards Echo and the other Grounders. Bellamy pulls her hand down tiredly.

“Okay, Clarke. Say bye to whomever and meet me by the front door.”

“On which side?” Clarke asks.

“Cute,” says Bellamy. “This side, probably.”

And it’s on this side of the door that Clarke _does_ end up meeting him, once he’s wrangled Octavia away from the Grounders and listened to her explain about one of the more authoritative trustees on their leadership committee, a woman named Indra, who Echo says could train her in their art form, easy.

“O,” Bellamy says, as he and Octavia and Clarke step out into the nippy air of the night, “you’re a _double major_ , at _Brown_ – and one of those is Linguistics, for God’s sake. I don’t think you’re gonna have trouble finding a job after graduation.”

“I’m confused,” says Clarke, moving to take the back seat.

“My sister wants to be a Grounder,” Bellamy explains with pursed lips. He turns back to Octavia and jerks his head in Clarke’s direction, a pointed expression on his face.

“You go shotgun, Clarke,” Octavia calls immediately.

“Are you sure?” Clarke asks, raising an eyebrow.

Octavia nods. “Bell needs a navigator anyway. I don’t know where we’re going.”

“Right.”

So Clarke ends up in the front beside Bellamy, who has never been more aware of cup-holders in his life. Octavia sits in the back, singing along to whatever song comes on the radio, until she announces that she is tired a few minutes before they reach Clarke’s and she curls up like a cat and shuts her eyes. Benefit of roughing it as a kid – you can sleep anywhere and be comfy enough.

Clarke’s apartment is on one of the upper floors of a well-to-do building on the artsy side of town. The doors to her apartment complex are tall and made of glass, so clear that Bellamy has to stop a tired Octavia walking right into them – luggage and all. Clarke stamps in the security code and they make their way upstairs by elevator.

They end up in a small foyer, with one door along the wall to the left of the elevator and one door on the right. Clarke’s is the left one, simply painted, not a scratch in sight.

The door opens into a hallway, which leads – apart from a bathroom and the laundry – to the rest of the apartment. It’s huge, and minimally decorated, art on each and every wall. Clarke kicks her shoes off at the door but enthusiastically tells Octavia and Bellamy they don’t need to do so.

She points Octavia in the direction of the spare room – “I put a towel in there for you, and there’s another one on the heated towel rail in your en suite if you need it” – and then directs Bellamy to her own. Should he refer to it as _theirs_?

No. Of course not. The room is Clarke’s, and he may not even end up sleeping in it.

The bed is pushed against the wall, made and tidy, with two bedside tables. Both of them have lamps. There’s a row of books and a dressing table and a mirror – the closet doors, sliding across, are mirrors, too. Right now the curtains are closed but Bellamy can tell there’s a spectacular view outside in the daytime. He sets his suitcase and his duffle down and Clarke clears her throat.

“Which side of the bed do you prefer?”

“Whichever you don’t, I guess,” he replies with a shrug. “Maybe the side closer to the door?”

Clarke nods, and she retrieves her pyjamas – really just a way over-sized t-shirt and some shorts – before telling Bellamy to make himself at home.

When she has left the room to change, Bellamy wonders if he should throw on a t-shirt himself. Usually he just goes shirtless unless it’s winter and he finds himself up at the ass crack of dawn, frozen right to the bone, but will Clarke think that’s weird? To be in bed with a half-naked guy she barely even likes while his sister is snoring two doors down?

Then Bellamy realises that Clarke has a doctor for a mother, and was almost one herself, and anatomy probably isn’t a big deal for her. Clarke Griffin doesn’t seem like the type to let someone’s pecs get to her, especially if they’re Bellamy’s.

He changes before she gets back, and is under the covers with his nose pressed into his weathered copy of _The Odyssey_ when she knocks.

“You know, you don’t have to knock on your own bedroom door, Princess,” he tells her, looking at her over the top of his book.

“Just wanted to make sure I didn’t see anything you didn’t want me to see,” she replies, crossing the room to climb into bed. The shirt really is too big for her, in more a slouchy way than a fashionable one. The cut’s different, too. It’s a _Men’s_. “ _The Odyssey_?” Clarke notes – Bellamy’s earlier thought process is shattered. “You’re just parodying yourself at this point.”

Bellamy smiles and closes the book, setting it down on the bedside table. “Yeah, I guess. But you can’t help what you love.”

“No,” says Clarke, “you can’t.”

Bellamy thinks that if two months ago he were to look into the future and see this, he would think he’d gone insane. Sleepovers with Clarke Griffin? He’d check himself in to the hospital, thanks. But it’s nice, the comfort of being here with Clarke. Her duvet is warm, her sheets are comfortable. Her feet haven’t awkwardly brushed his yet, which either says something or doesn’t. Bellamy sighs, sinking back into the pillows and pulling the blankets up higher.

“Are you half as exhausted as I am right now?” Clarke asks, yawning and reaching to turn off her lamp. She pauses and says, “If you want to read, don’t feel obligated not to. There’s a reason there are two lamps.”

“Nah, it’s fine. I need a good night’s sleep.”

Problem is, lying here next to Clarke Griffin, glancing across and seeing her eyes close, her face soft in the orangey hue of the lamp, Bellamy couldn’t feel more awake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoa - longest chapter yet, by a long shot! Sorry this took a while to update. School's just started again. I think I told you that. Anyway, I had such a blast writing this chapter, but haven't proofread it or anything. Hopefully you enjoyed it and the next one continues to amp things up! (Kudos and comments give me life - as does anything related to The 100.)


	6. The Blake-Griffin Cohabitation

Bellamy discovers many things in the days that follow his temporarily moving in with Clarke. She takes her coffee black and as soon as possible; she doodles on _everything_ , to the point that every wall of her apartment has one properly framed art piece and several additions by Clarke. She’s stopped lying as far away from him as she physically can in the queen-sized bed they’re sharing, and, above all, she is not – it can’t be stressed enough – _not_ a morning person.

Unfortunately for her, when the Blakes are awake, _the Blakes are awake_.

Octavia is the one who jogs downstairs in the morning and collects the newspaper and everything else from Clarke’s mailbox, and Bellamy makes breakfast, because he is somehow blessed with the ability to improvise a perfectly good meal out of next to nothing. On the third evening of their stay, Clarke spends over an hour going through a bunch of files for a case going to court the next morning, but when said morning arrives, it’s Bellamy who gets up first – extracting his arm from where it had settled the curve of Clarke’s waist – and pats her on the shoulder.

“Up and at ’em, Princess!”

Clarke rolls over and tells him very succinctly to fuck off.

Of course, she does get up, and when she’s showered and dressed and Bellamy has mysteriously vanished from what both are mentally describing as _their bedroom_ , she smells food. It turns out Octavia has organised Clarke’s files and placed them in her bag on the kitchen bench, beside a steaming hot reusable Starbucks mug and a Saran wrapped, freshly made, breakfast roll, complete with bacon. Octavia is back in her room, showering, and Bellamy is already on the couch in front of the TV, watching a History Channel special. (“I should warn you,” Octavia tells Clarke when she returns home from work, “Bellamy exclusively watches the History Channel and HBO.”)

In short, Octavia and Bellamy are the best guests Clarke could have hoped for – or predicted.

*

It’s day six of the Blake-Griffin Cohabitation (Raven, Monty, and Miller have all pointed out the obvious fault in the name, because it reads like a basketball player), and Bellamy is at the doors of the DA’s Office, about to meet Clarke for lunch. Octavia needed a ride to some kick-boxing class, and in the midst of Bellamy Blake, professional taxi service, getting his sister where she needed to be, he received a text from Clarke saying she had a couple of hours’ lunch break and would he like to meet her maybe if he didn’t have plans already.

Of course, this had O chorusing that her brother was _whipped_. She found it hilarious that a guy who was so stalwart in his ways had been so easily led astray by Clarke Griffin. Bellamy damn near decided he wanted to join the kick-boxing class after that.

But sure enough, he ends up at the DA’s Office, feeling as out of place as is physically possible in his navy blue t-shirt and black cargo pants. It takes him three minutes to run into someone he knows, and even then, it isn’t Clarke.

“Lexa! Commander!”

Lexa turns, raising her eyebrows at the sight of him. She takes a few steps closer. “Bellamy Blake.”

“Have you seen Clarke?” he asks.

“No,” she replies somewhat suspiciously. “Why?”

“I’m meeting her for lunch. Do you know where she might be?”

Lexa surveys him, her expression unreadable. “I’ll show you to her office in a minute. I’m going that way anyway. But I want to talk to you about something first.”

Bellamy raises his eyebrows, successfully intrigued.

“You know I was good friends with Clarke in high school, don’t you?”

He nods.

“I’d just like to give you some advice.” Lexa breathes heavily and says, “Speaking from experience, I would advise you to be strong in your convictions if you’re going to be in love with Clarke Griffin.”

Bellamy’s breath catches in his throat. “I’m not in love with her.”

Lexa does not comment on this. “Clarke has had to face a lot of hard decisions, but her strength is in her heart. Where others are weak, she’s strong. However, with that said: if she thinks you love her, she won’t let you. She’ll think she’s protecting you. In retrospect, she might be.”

“You know we’re not really dating, right? You know it’s just to help me out?”

Lexa nods. “I’m aware of your original intentions, yes. Now I’ll take you to Clarke.”

Bellamy feels too much of a need to process the Commander’s words that he doesn’t question her. He follows her down a hallway, and halfway up a flight of stairs, where they run into Clarke. She beams at the sight of him.

“Hey.”

“Hey, Princess.”

Clarke glances between Bellamy and Lexa. “What’s up?”

Bellamy shrugs and Lexa says, “I was just showing Bellamy where to find you.”

“Crossed paths in the atrium,” Bellamy adds, nodding.

“I’ll go,” says Lexa. “I’m meeting Anya. Don’t forget what I told you,” she adds to Bellamy before continuing on up the stairs.

Clarke furrows her eyebrows. “What’s she talking about?”

“Oh – uh – just that the Wallace & Co. are blowing up the whole Grounder exhibition,” he improvises, remembering something he heard the other night. “They’re staying on longer and O probably wants to go and see.”

This fools Clarke, who replies with a soft, “oh, okay,” and leads him off to lunch. (Bellamy swears he’s not a lunch date person in any way, shape, or form, but he’d be lying if he tried to say he didn’t have a decent time with Clarke.)

*

At the end of the first week of the Blake-Griffin Cohabitation, and good God they’re going to have to come up with a better name for it, Bellamy drifts into consciousness in Clarke’s bed, as usual, with his chest bare and his arm wrapped around her. There’s a phone ringing, Clarke’s phone, and she groans as she reaches forward to pick it up and answer. She presses it to her ear and the tone with which she says, “Mom?” makes Bellamy think he shouldn’t be listening.

Clarke doesn’t seem to notice the arm Bellamy still has wrapped around her, even though her shirt has ridden up and now what he’s really touching is less shirt and more the soft skin of her torso. He’s pretending to be asleep but Clarke isn’t even looking at him.

“Wait, what are you talking about?” she asks of her mother on the other end of the phone. “No, you can’t come and stay.” She sighs heavily. “Not this weekend, not next weekend – Bellamy and his sister are here; there’s no room.”

Bellamy hopes she didn’t feel the shock run through his fingers at the sound of his name.

“Please don’t…” There’s a pause. “He’s my – oh. Oh, Thelonious told you, did he?”

Fuck. Of _course_ Jaha told Clarke’s mom. They’re friends. What if Clarke corrects her? He’s so –

“Well, I didn’t think it was any of your business.”

Bellamy has half a mind to hold her tighter, as though the enormity of his gratitude can be expressed by the proximity of their bodies.

“I can’t do the fifteenth, I’ll be in Greece,” Clarke says, like it’s just a throwaway thought. She groans. “Yes, Mom, you heard correctly. Greece. As in, Trojan War. I… yes, that’s where Thelonious is taking his recruits – that’s why we’re going.” Clarke sighs, leaning back against the pillows. Bellamy’s pretend-asleep hand drifts closer to her hip. “Bellamy is. _Well, I was invited, wasn’t I?_ ”

Through the guise of his eyelashes, Bellamy sees Clarke bite her lip. “‘Too soon’?” She lets out a bitter laugh. “You haven’t exactly been present.”

It’s gone so quiet that Bellamy can hear Mrs. Griffin down the phone. _“Well, then, tell me about him. This Bellamy of yours.”_

His heart beats faster. The ruse must be working if people are thinking of him as ‘that Bellamy of Clarke’s’.

“Tell you what? What do you want to know?”

She glances around at him, but he has the good sense to continue pretending he’s asleep.

“Well, he’s a historian – and a good one; you know what ARK’s like. He graduated top of his class while working _and_ taking care of his sister, Octavia. She’s great, too, Mom. Really street smart, savvy. Uh…” she bites her lip again. “He’s kind of tall, but not as tall as Wells was.” Her voice catches on the name ‘Wells’, and Bellamy wonders who he was, why he’s referred to in past tense. “He’s got dark hair and freckles and he probably smirks more than he smiles. But he’s an absolute nerd, too. Like, he can read Ancient Greek and spends his spare time analysing Homer and he just really, really _loves it_. I…”

Clarke’s mom says something almost inaudible. Bellamy realises what she’s said after she’s said it. _“Do you love him?”_

Clarke hesitates. “I…” She doesn’t seem to know how far to go with the lie. “I love who I am when I’m with him, and how I feel when we’re together. I love who I’ve grown to be because of him. Does that make sense?”

Bellamy wants to tell her that love isn’t supposed to make sense – then he realises that she knows that, that she’s playing it up for her mom’s sake, that she’s saying things specifically to avoid having lied. Clarke Griffin loves nothing so little as Bellamy Blake. Don’t they both know it?

“Yeah, Mom. I _am_ happy.”

Clarke’s mom says something else, but Bellamy isn’t concentrating on eavesdropping. Clarke stiffens.

“No, thanks. I think I’m a pretty good judge of what’s right for me.” A second later, she says: “No, Mom. I have to go.”

She ends the call, sets the phone down, and sinks back into the bed, all with Bellamy’s hand still rested across her stomach. She sighs, though more out of contentment than bitterness, and then says quietly, “How much of that did you hear?”

Bellamy raises his eyebrows. “Good morning, Clarke.”

“You’re not that good an actor, Bellamy.”

He pats her on the abdomen with the hand already placed there. “I’m good enough to pretend I’m in love with you.”

She blinks at him. “Touché.” After a moment, she asks, “Seriously, though, how much of that did you hear?”

He shrugs. “Just some. I dunno – most. All of it.”

Clarke’s eyes dart around the room. “Yeah, well, now you know I don’t have the greatest relationship with my mother.”

Bellamy, turning on his side so to look at her straight-on, nods. “I’ll admit that’s true.”

He doesn’t ask why, though. He doesn’t ask for a reason. If she wants to give it, she’ll give it in due course. (It’s not until later that Bellamy realises just how often he uses this mentality with Clarke.)

She gets up from the bed then, and his hand falls between the sheets. When she reaches the door, she turns back to him, a slight smirk on her face.

“What is it, Princess?”

She shrugs. “Thelonious is a tattletale.”

*

Fourteen hours later, Clarke is back in bed. She’s got her hair in a bun and there are four thick folders on Bellamy’s side of the bed, each one pertaining to a different case. Octavia is getting dinner with Raven and probably staying the night there – she mentioned something about clubbing that Bellamy wasn’t a fan of – and Bellamy hasn’t been home all evening. Clarke’s been too busy to send him a text, and besides, she’s not _really_ his girlfriend. What does it matter if he’s not home at – shit, is it really eleven o’clock?

Clarke tells herself she’ll give it another thirty minutes – she’s busy, anyway, so it’s not like she _wants_ Bellamy here distracting her – and then she’ll call him and check in. That’s what any responsible friend would do.

However, five minutes later, she hears the front door open, and Bellamy’s voice calls, “Clarke?”

“I’m in o – _my_ room!”

There’s a knock on the door. “You decent?”

“Always. Come in and stop beating around the bush. I have work to do.”

Bellamy pokes his head in the door, smirking. “I’m aware.” He enters the room, nudges the door shut with his side, and holds up the coffee carrier in his hands. “Raven mentioned you had, like, four cases on the go, so I thought I’d bring you something back. And, y’know, give the Espresso maker in the kitchen a break.”

Clarke sets her work down and beams up at him, genuine and warm. She leans forward and grasps the takeaway cup Bellamy holds out to her. He takes the other cup, his, out of the cardboard carrier and sets it – along with the collection of other random things on his person – down on his side of the bed.

“I was hanging out with Nate, we ended up getting pizza. I was gonna text you…”

Clarke takes a sip of her coffee and smiles at him. “That’s okay. I trusted you weren’t dead in a ditch. Thanks for the coffee,” she adds, lifting the cup slightly, like somebody making a toast.

“Least I could do,” Bellamy replies.

He kicks off his shoes and pulls his t-shirt off over his head, but pauses before stripping off his trousers. “You don’t mind if I’m in here, right? Like, I’ll probably just end up reading mythology or something. But I don’t want to disturb you if you’re actually working.”

“No,” says Clarke, “it’s fine. I’ve probably done enough for today, anyway. My brain’s stopped processing things.” She takes another sip of her coffee before placing it on her bedside table. “Maybe you could tell me some myths instead. Those’d probably be more interesting than _these_ ,” she adds, as she picks up the folders and moves them to the floor beside the bed. “Come on, where’s that book of yours?”

Bellamy laughs, thinking the whole thing is ridiculous, but he digs through his duffle bag and finds her a book of myths. Clarke starts flipping through the pages and Bellamy takes off his trousers. When he climbs into bed beside her, she’s reading about Athena.

“You’re predictable as hell, Princess.”

Clarke raises her eyebrows. “ _What?_ So I like Athena, so what?”

Bellamy rolls his eyes. “Yeah, you and half the readership of the _Percy Jackson_ series.”

“You know, as someone who has basic _Percy Jackson_ knowledge, I will say Athena is a hard-ass in those books!”

He just chuckles. “Okay, sure.”

They argue about everything from Persephone’s agency to Hestia giving up her seat on Olympus for Dionysus, but they seem united by the fact that Zeus is, on the whole, a terrible father.

“At least he left his kids with some kind of greater destiny,” says Bellamy bitterly. “Mine split as soon as he could.”

Clarke looks away. “Mine’s dead.”

Bellamy turns to her, his lips parting. “What?”

Clarke nods. “The men I love don’t usually end up in good places,” she says harshly.

Bellamy’s eyes search her face. “What do you mean?”

With a sigh, Clarke says, “My dad died when I was sixteen.”

Bellamy opens his mouth to apologise but Clarke speaks over him.

“He had something to say about what a few of ARK’s execs were up to. He was gonna go to the press. They obviously didn’t like that very much. So, one night, after work… somebody made sure he never came home.”

Bellamy’s heart breaks watching her. “Jaha didn’t…”

She meets his eye. “I don’t know.” She lets out another sigh and continues. “Then in my senior year of high school, Wells, my best friend, Jaha’s son, gets mistaken for someone else when he’s out one night. Some girl stabs him in the neck, and he dies, and she – she has the _nerve_ to say it was self-defence.” Clarke grits her teeth. “I knew Wells better than anyone. He hated violence. _Hated_ it.”

“Clarke, I’m so…”

It’s almost like she can’t hear him.

“And in college I end up dating this guy, Finn. Well, we actually weren’t dating. He was with Raven, and he slept with me while we were all away on this camping trip without her. Long story. Anyway, they break up and Finn’s in love with me.” Clarke swallows. “So he’s driving me home one night, and he’s too busy looking at me to see that the orange light at this intersection has gone red. Finn keeps driving, and – we hit a bus. The bus flips. Somehow, we don’t. But Finn’s side of the car, it… it _smashes_ into the bus. Eighteen people die, and so does Finn. All because he was looking at me.”

She looks up at Bellamy, who is surprised she remembers that he’s there.

“I killed him, Bellamy. I killed Finn.”

And suddenly all Bellamy can think about is one night years ago when Raven shows up at his apartment in tears, clutching the bottle of moonshine that Monty had left at her house, and at first she doesn’t say anything but then she needs him and she wants him like _that_ and he lets her and now everything makes so much sense. It never gets easier, but you learn how to cope.

Bellamy doesn’t know what to do, so he reaches out and pulls her into him, and Clarke cries. He’s so in shock at what has just happened that puzzle pieces begin rearranging themselves in his mind: Clarke’s discomfort at seeing Jaha, the identity of Wells and the reason for the past tense, Clarke seeming to owe Raven a thousand times over, Lexa telling him that Clarke would be protecting him if she didn’t let him love her. And he’s dragged her through it all.

She wouldn’t have ever had to have anything to do with ARK Enterprises if he hadn’t asked.

“Oh, God, Clarke, I’m so sorry.”

She sniffs. “Why? You weren’t driving the bus, and I’m pretty sure you didn’t stab my best friend.”

He doesn’t know how to respond to that, and he doesn’t know that he wants to.

After a moment, Clarke asks, “Why are you being so nice to me?”

“I’m always nice.”

“No, you’re not.”

Bellamy presses a kiss to her hair. “I’m nice to _you_.”

Clarke looks up at him, perhaps realising that, yeah, he actually is. He brings her coffee when she has to work and makes her breakfast when she doesn’t have time to do it herself and he’s rubbing circles into her back and kissing her forehead instead of her hair and why does this brash, anarchic boy feel like home?

Her eyes meet his for a second, searching, and then she pulls herself up to kiss him. Their lips brush, and Bellamy’s eyes are opening and he says “Clarke…” in the most vulnerable tone she has ever heard. Yes, it’s stupid, and yes, it’s dangerous, but she’s drowning in the weight of her father and Wells and Finn and Bellamy is the only person she can think of to keep her afloat.

So she kisses him again, harder, more urgently, with her hands on his neck and oh God if her thumbs weren’t pressed where his jaw meets his ears then she’d be strangling him, but perhaps it was always meant to be this way – this way with his arms tightening around her, pulling her as close as he can.

But then he’s gone, moving away. And in a strangled voice he says, breathing deeply, “this is not how I wanted this to happen.”

Clarke blinks, staring up at him. “Bellamy – ”

He’s shaking his head, running a hand over his face. “Clarke, you’re upset, and you’re not thinking straight.”

“I…”

He pulls himself into a sitting position over the side of the bed, facing the wall instead of her. A moment after that, he grabs his trousers and yanks them on. “I think I’ll sleep on the couch.”

“You don’t have to – ”

Clenching his jaw and closing his eyes, almost like he’s reprimanding himself, Bellamy replies, “No, I should. We’ll have plenty of time for, uh, pillow talk, in Greece.”

He grabs his pillows, almost to illustrate his point, and mutters something about finding extra blankets in the linen cupboard. After two steps towards the door, he turns back, looking pained. “Look, Clarke, I’m really sorry. Uh… sleep well.”

And then he ducks out of the room, leaving Clarke with a book of Greek myths and the thought that maybe Bellamy is better at pretending to like her than she thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... that's that. Comments and kudos much appreciated, because it's 3:30am and my flatmate's cat has been curled up in my lap as I wrote pretty much this entire chapter. It's been varying degrees of difficult. Hope you liked it (or it ripped your heart out)!


	7. Couches and Coffee Tables

Clarke Griffin wakes up the next morning sure of three things.

First, she needs to stop putting folders down directly beside the bed because she always, always, _always_ steps on them.

Second, as a grown woman, she should probably stop sleeping in her dad’s old t-shirts. The one she is currently wearing has several holes and paint marks and the rest of them don’t even smell like him anymore.

Third, over-emotional or not, she really liked kissing Bellamy.

He’s out there on the couch, probably all crotchety and uncomfortable. Clarke heard Octavia arrive home this morning, but the girl’s footsteps had stopped at the sight of her brother.

“Why are you on the couch? What did you _do_?”

Bellamy had groaned, perhaps just with sleep, and said, “I, uh, got in late from Nate’s. Didn’t want to disturb Clarke.”

There was a pause, in which Clarke processed the lie. Then, Octavia said, “You are _so_ whipped, big brother.”

And Clarke had almost smiled at the bitter taste in her mouth. If only Octavia knew. Bellamy was not, and is not, remotely interested in Clarke. If he was, he wouldn’t have jumped out of bed like he’d been electric-shocked. Part of her argues that he must care for her, in some way, shape, or form, because he wouldn’t have kissed her back if he didn’t. (And since the entire event is burned into Clarke’s memory, she’s definitely sure of this fact.)

So Clarke starts the day with the knowledge that Bellamy wants to forget what happened last night. She gets up, showers, but since it’s a weekend, she doesn’t have to go in to work. In hopes of avoiding an awkward situation with either Bellamy or Octavia or both, she texts Monty and asks if he wants to get breakfast. His response begins with an _Awesome. Please. Yes._ and then mentions something about the munchies. Clarke thinks Miller is wasting his time looking up _Breaking Bad_ trivia when Monty’s using his chemistry degree to do pretty much the same thing.

When she’s got herself dressed and has packed her essentials in her handbag, she braves the rest of the apartment. God, Clarke, pull yourself together. It’s _your_ apartment, for crying out loud. Here you _are_ the Princess. Here you’re the queen.

Bellamy must have grabbed himself a shirt while she was still asleep, because he’s wearing one when she runs into him in the kitchen – almost literally. He’s got a half-filled coffee mug in his hand and she springs back to avoid it spilling down her white shirt.

“Sorry,” says Bellamy, shaking coffee off the hand that isn’t holding the mug.

“You’ve got to stop apologising to me.”

His eyes flick up to meet hers. After a pause, he repeats, “Sorry.”

“I’m, uh, I’m gonna get breakfast with Monty,” Clarke says, nodding at her own words and not quite managing to look at Bellamy.

“Oh – do you want a ride?”

He’s got to stop saying things like that to her. He’s got to stop pretending when there’s no one around.

“I actually have a car,” Clarke says, perhaps too harshly. “I haven’t had much chance to drive it recently, but it’s still in the car park downstairs.”

Bellamy clenches his jaw. “Clarke, I…”

“God, is that the time?” she interrupts him, her eyes darting to the clock on the wall behind Bellamy. “I said I’d meet Monty at ten. I have to go now if I want to get there on time.”

She turns to leave, but Bellamy reaches out and grabs her wrist. She whirls back around to face him.

“Are we going to talk?” he asks her.

Clarke presses her lips together. “Plenty of time to talk in Greece, I seem to recall.”

He looks pained. “Clarke…”

“I’ve got to go meet Monty.”

So he lets her, and she does.

*

Clarke discovers that The Dropship is a shitty place to listen to music, but a good enough place to eat. She and Monty sit by the door, next to a radio that plays music half the time and white noise the rest. Raven could probably fix it in five minutes, but once a clerk with the nametag _Myles_ comes and turns the entire thing off, Clarke and Monty are left in relative silence. It’s not unbearable, and they end up talking.

Clarke starts things off with a bang when she picks at her breakfast and says, “I kissed Bellamy.”

Monty continues things with a bang when he drops his fork. He stares up at Clarke, half-choking, and splutters, “ _What?_ ”

She nods. “Last night. He freaked out and said we should stop and went and slept on the couch.”

Monty is still staring at her, stunned into silence. “You… kissed Bellamy. Bellamy Blake. Asshole Bellamy Blake who you cannot stand. _That_ Bellamy Blake?”

She shakes her head and sighs. “He’s not actually an asshole.”

“Oh, is _that_ what a week of him living in your house has taught you?”

“I knew he wasn’t an asshole before I offered to let him stay,” Clarke argues.

Monty looks at her like she’s insane. “He made you _ruin_ three of Raven’s new plates! Do you not _remember_ New Year’s Eve?” Before Clarke can respond, he adds, “And why did you say ‘went and slept on the couch’? Where was he sleeping prior to that?”

Clarke sips her coffee, raising her eyebrows and dropping them quickly, as if to shrug.

Monty groans. “Oh, come _on_ , Clarke! His sister is staying literally two doors down the hall, and you didn’t think to lump them together?”

She sets the coffee cup down on its saucer. “I wanted to give Octavia some space.”

“By _sleeping_ with her _brother_?”

Several people turn around at this, and Clarke’s eyes widen at Monty. “You can’t just _say_ things like that! It’s… it’s distorting the truth, and it’s, frankly, pointless. Because, as far as Bellamy is concerned, it may as well be over – the whole thing.”

Monty raises his eyebrows. “That… sounds like a relationship.”

“And it’s not true,” says Clarke. “We leave for Greece in three days and I’m not sure how it’s going to work.”

“Clarke, it _has_ to work. You’ve already gone to the trouble of telling everyone about him, including your _mom_.”

Clarke rolls her eyes. “ _Thelonious_ told my mom. That’s _different_.”

“How?”

“It’s not,” she admits, letting out a sigh and practically sagging with the release of it. “But I feel like he and I were finally getting along, becoming friends, and then I had to go and blow it. Typical me.”

“That’s not true,” Monty assures her. “Nate says Bellamy’s been talking about you a lot. And not, like, ‘this goddamn Princess’ either.”

Clarke looks up from her breakfast, her face telling Monty to go on.

“Yeah, it’s annoying, actually. ‘It’s really late, I should text Clarke,’ or, ‘should I be contributing to Clarke’s electricity bills while I’m saying with her?’, ‘Clarke would find that _so_ funny’, ‘I have no idea how to solve this problem, let me call Clarke’. Apparently,” Monty says, “Nate’s had it up to _here_ ” – he holds up his hand – “with you, and the fact you’ve taken over his best friend’s life – so if you think you’ve blown things by kissing Bellamy, I’d advise you _not_ to think so.”

She takes a moment, then raises one eyebrow. “How does Nate know Bellamy isn’t just pretending? He _really_ wants this job.” (She personally does not understand why anyone would want to work for Thelonious Jaha, but it’s none of her business. Literally.)

“He may _like_ Greek tragedies, Clarke, but he’s not interested in living one.”

Hoping to change the subject, Clarke says, “So you’ve been hanging out with Nate a lot?”

Monty nods, eyes on his plate.

“Are you two…?”

He shrugs, still not looking at her.

Clarke leans forward and grabs his arm, forcing his gaze onto hers. “ _Monty_ …”

“Okay, fine!” he yields, like a toddler who’s been caught sneaking extra cookies from the cupboard, “Yes! Since last week!”

“You are _kidding_ ,” says Clarke with a beaming smile on her face. “Why didn’t you tell me earlier?”

“You’ve kind of had your own things to worry about.”

“Oh, but that’s not as important as _this_ ,” she says quickly. “Come on, how did it happen?”

Monty shrugs. “It just sorta _did_. We were hanging out at his place, but one of the main electric fuses blew so I had to go rewire it. When I got done and everything was up and running again, we ended up talking about his _dad_ , for some reason. Talking about whether or not he was proud of who Nate was, and then he – Nate – started getting all deep,” Monty holds his hands up and does a wave-like motion at the word, “and then he was wondering whether his dad was proud of his – Nate’s – sexuality and all that. And then, of course, I was like, _what?_ And he just sorta… _yeah_.”

Clarke raises her eyebrows. “That’s awesome, Monty.” She presses her lips together into a smile and nods. “It’s really great.”

“But what’re you gonna do about Bellamy?”

She sighs, looking down at the table and shaking her head ever so slightly.

“Did you ever think about the fact you were probably going to _have_ to kiss him eventually? And the thing with ARK!” he says, realising a flaw in their plan. “Your mom is friends with all of Bellamy’s future overheads – what are you gonna do once he’s got the job? Stage a break-up? But everyone’s already been conned into thinking you’re _so_ in love! Fake a long distance? What if you want to go out with someone else? W – ”

“I won’t,” says Clarke, gritting her teeth. “And we didn’t. We didn’t think this through – Raven was asking me for a favour, and Bellamy was desperate, and I thought I was helping out a friend. I haven’t even talked to my mom properly in _years_ , and I didn’t even know Thelonious was still working there. He was never even part of the historical department when my dad worked for ARK.”

Monty sighs. “Yeah, you and Bellamy are going to have to sort this out amongst yourselves.”

“I think he kissed me back,” Clarke says. She’s not sure why she’s telling Monty this, but it has to be said. “He kissed me back, and then he didn’t want to.”

Monty thinks about it. “Talk to Raven – she’s the Blake psychologist. Or you could ask Octavia.”

“I’m not _asking Octavia_ if her brother _likes me_ , Monty.”

“Fine. All I’m saying is, you’ve made your bed, and now you’ve gotta sleep in it. With Bellamy, of course.”

Clarke sighs into a laugh, shoving him from the other side of the table.

*

Clarke returns home to find her house successfully Blakeless. She pours herself a glass of wine, because she sure as hell deserves one, and curls up on the couch with a Van Gogh book she doesn’t remember buying – but she must have, because why else would it be lying on the coffee table?

She’s partway into the biography – maybe it was a gift from Raven once, though her gifts are usually jokes or hardware or lingerie – when she hears the front door open.

“Hey, Bell, you here?”

It’s Octavia’s voice, and the girl trudges into the lounge in her combat boots. “Bell?”

Her eyes fall on Clarke. “Oh. Sorry. Bell’s not home, is he?”

Clarke shakes her head. “No. What’s up?”

Octavia sighs. “I’ve got a date, and I wanted him to drive me.”

“Oh, you’ve got a date? With who – if you don’t mind me asking?”

Octavia sits down at a stool by Clarke’s kitchen island and begins pulling off her boots. “Uh, I met this Grounder called Lincoln at Raven’s, and we’re either gonna go hiking or play paintball, and I’m not sure which.”

Clarke raises her eyebrows, setting aside the book. “That sounds cool. Did you say you needed a ride?”

Catching her drift, Octavia backtracks. “It’s not for a little while – I mean, Bellamy’ll probably be back by then. You don’t have to worry about it.”

Clarke shakes her head. “I’m not worrying about it. I’ll drive you.”

“Princess has a carriage?” Octavia says, and Clarke doesn’t know if she’s mocking her or if she’s impressed.

“Princess has a chariot,” she replies. “Tell me when you’re ready.”

*

When Bellamy arrived at Miller’s over an hour ago, he found himself in the presence of not only Nate, but Monty as well. (They told him they were dating approximately seven minutes and forty two seconds ago, but nobody’s really been looking at a clock.) And now the three of them have left the apartment, piled into Achilles the Blake Family Automobile, on the way to buy Octavia flowers, because Bellamy found out from an inside source at Brown – a sort of sketchy guy in the dean’s office named Shumway – that she aced her exams.

“Of course she did,” says Miller, when Bellamy recounts it yet again in the car. “You’re a family of geniuses.”

Bellamy nods at this, and smirks for the rest of the drive.

The florist’s shop is bright and full of different kinds of flowers. The smell’s a bit overwhelming, and about ten minutes in Miller starts sneezing and he’s definitely allergic to something. Monty is about to leave the shop with him when an eerily familiar voice calls, “Monty?”

The boy in question whirls around, mimicked by Bellamy and Nate. “Maya.”

“ _Maya_ ,” Bellamy repeats almost immediately, realising just how deep the shit is that he’s in.

“Oh, hi, Bellamy,” says Maya, standing a little way down the aisle of flowers with a smile on her face. She’s wearing a pink sweater and cream-coloured pants and looks from Bellamy to Monty and back. “You two know each other?”

Bellamy blinks, glancing at Monty then back at Maya. “ _You_ two know each other?”

Maya nods slowly. “He used to be roommates with my boyfriend.”

“And neighbours with him before that,” Monty adds. He presses his lips together in way that almost indicates a shrug. “Jasper and I go way back.”

“Monty knew Nate who knew me,” Bellamy explains to Maya. It’s almost the truth. Monty was also a friend of Clarke’s, but he doesn’t know how close they are if she hadn’t met Jasper before the ARK gala. In an attempt to redirect the conversation, he raises his right index finger and swivels it around. “What are you doing _here_?”

It turns out Maya is taking an art class as an offshoot from the gallery, and she needs flowers for a piece representing decay and renewal and all that kind of stuff. Clarke would love it, and if she was here, she and Maya would talk for hours: about colour choices, what media to use. Bellamy presses his lips together. He didn’t come here to think about Clarke.

“What about you? Are you surprising Clarke?”

He snaps back to reality. “What?”

“Yes,” says Monty, quicker on the uptake than Bellamy. “He’s getting something for his sister to celebrate her kicking her midterms’ ass, and he’s getting something for Clarke, too, because he’s a huge sap. Aren’t you, Bellamy?”

He clenches his jaw, but Maya responds before he does.

“Oh, that’s cool!” she points out a bouquet of bright pink flowers. “I think Clarke would like those – but then again, you know her better than I do.” Her phone rings, and after plucking it from her pocket, she says, “it’s Jasper. I’d better go – I’ll tell him we ran into each other, Monty, and congratulations on your sister’s midterms, Bellamy!” And then she’s gone, without even her flowers for the art class.

Silence settles between the three left there, Bellamy and Monty and Nate.

After a moment, Nate breaks it. “So are you getting Clarke those flowers?”

Bellamy stares at him. “Ex _cuse me_?”

“You should get Octavia bluebells or something, and you should get _those_ for Clarke.”

“Why would I buy Clarke flowers?”

“I don’t know,” says Monty, “because she kissed you and you thought it was a good idea to leave the room afterwards?”

Nate finds something on the perfectly swept floor to trip over, and Bellamy whirls around to face Monty. His face is white.

“Did she tell you that?”

“Is it true?” Monty presses.

“Of course it is,” says Bellamy, his lips dark against his pained expression.

Nate doesn’t look impressed. “Big deal, you kissed Clarke – can we talk about something else now?”

“How are you being so blasé about this?” Monty asks, stepping closer to his boyfriend.

“It’s just not exactly surprising that this happened.”

“Really?” says Bellamy. “I was pretty fucking shocked.”

Nate shrugs. “It’s predictable. Now buy your fake girlfriend some goddamn flowers, and get your sister something that looks ethereal _and_ powerful enough to kill someone, before I get bored.”

*

“What do you mean she’s _not_ _here_?” Bellamy demands. It’s fortunate that he left one bouquet on O’s bed and the other on Clarke’s, because what she has just said would have probably led to crushed stems.

“I mean exactly that,” says Clarke. She’s barely looked up from his copy of a Van Gogh biography since he arrived home.

Bellamy damn near stomps his way to Clarke on the couch, where he grabs the book from her hands and presses it closed, the page she was reading kept apart from the others by one of his fingers. “Where did she _go_?”

“She had a date,” Clarke snaps, clearly annoyed that he has taken away her book-shaped barrier.

“A date?” Bellamy raises his eyebrows. “She barely even knows anyone in this town. Who would she go on a _date_ with?”

Clarke shakes her head. “Some Grounder called Lincoln? I don’t know – ”

“ – She’s on a date with a _Grounder_? Clarke, you’ve _met_ them; you know what they’re _like_ – ”

“ – They’re intimidating as hell,” Clarke acknowledges. “But so is Octavia. And I made sure she had your number, _my_ number, as well as Raven’s – in case of an emergency – and our present address if realised she needed it.”

Bellamy, subdued, glances at her. “That sounded like a mom, Princess.”

She shrugs. “It’s better to be safe than sorry. Now can I have my book back?”

He groans. “It’s not _your_ book. It’s mine.”

“No it isn’t – what are you talking about?”

“Read the fucking front page, Clarke.” He displays the faded piece of paper in question, where the title of the book and all its publishing details are printed. At the top of the page, there is a small, child-like inscription: _Property of Bellamy Blake_. “When you haven’t got much, you learn to label it all.”

Clarke presses her lips together. “Well, in that case, can I have _your_ book back?”

“It was only on the table because _I_ was reading it earlier,” says Bellamy through a façade of gritted teeth. He’s just happy they’re speaking somewhat normally again.

“There’s a history channel special on Augustus,” Clarke negotiates. She heard it advertised when Bellamy had the TV blaring last week.

“I know everything there is to know about him already,” says Bellamy. Almost immediately afterwards, though, he adds, “I should watch it.”

Clarke nods, and as Bellamy takes his place on the couch, he hands her the book without even so much as a glance. She takes it and heads for the bedroom.

The first thing she notices, after finding that Bellamy kept her exact page, is a beautiful bouquet of bright pink flowers. She doesn’t know their name but she’s pointed them out to people before when she’s seen them in the florist’s window, and they probably smell fresh and sweet.

She places her book – Bellamy’s book – down on the bed and then picks up the bouquet. Attached is a note, handwritten in black pen.

_Hey – sorry for making things weird the other night. I reacted like a tool but I’ll stop apologizing now. Happy monthsary (that sounds so stupid – why do people write that? And it’s actually been a few days more than a month but who the fuck cares really) to the best fake girlfriend I’ve ever had. I can’t wait to dig up ancient civilizations and read history books and chill poolside with you. – Bellamy_

Clarke finds herself smiling properly for the first time that day. She hadn’t picked Bellamy as the surprise flowers kind of guy, but then again, she _did_ see him take some into Octavia’s room, too – hence the start of the _she’s not here_ debacle – so perhaps he went out intending to buy his sister some and then came home with extra. Clarke decides something along the lines of _who knows? Who cares?_ and brings the flowers up to her nose so she can smell them.

“Clarke, you have _got_ to come and watch this…” Bellamy fades off, leaning against the threshold of Clarke’s bedroom door and folding his arms. “I see you’ve found the bouquet.”

Clarke nods. “They’re beautiful.”

He nods back at her. “They are.”

After a brief pause, he asks her if she wants to watch the Augustus special with him. “They’re about to get to the bit about his sister.”

Clarke raises her eyebrows.

“Octavia?” Bellamy prompts.

“Crazy coincidence,” says Clarke.

Bellamy shakes his head. “Mom let me name her, and I chose Octavia.” He shrugged. “I was a kid, I’d just read about Augustus.”

Clarke rolls her eyes, biting back a smile. “Of _course_ you had.” She sets the flowers down beside her and stands. “I think I _will_ watch it with you.”

Bellamy looks pleasantly surprised.

Clarke leads him out of the room, adding, “Anyone with a sister named Octavia has got to be an okay guy.”

“That was a triple cheese pizza, Clarke.”

She can hear the smile in his voice, and he can hear it in hers, when she replies, “So was that joke.”

“You wound me.”

“Okay, Augustus.”

There’s a split second of silence, of comfort, and then Bellamy asks, “Did you mean to reference John Green?”

Clarke blinks. “No, but I totally did.”

“That was great.”

“Like Alexander The?”

They collapse onto the couch and Bellamy slings his arm around Clarke’s shoulders. “Leave the history to me.”

“But I’m a triple _cheese_.”

“Princess," he sighs, "you’re _something_.”

*

By the time Octavia gets home – so well and truly into the night that it could almost be referred to as the morning – Bellamy’s head is leaning onto Clarke’s right shoulder and he’s dead to the world. The TV has been recently turned off and Clarke seems to just have been sitting in the silence, without the screen or conversation.

“How did it go?” Clarke whispers enthusiastically, grinning at Octavia.

The brunette stops on the way into her bedroom. “Good, yeah. He’s kinda cool.”

“Was it paintball or hiking, in the end?”

Octavia smirks. “Paintball, and I kicked his ass. We’re gonna hang again in a few days when he isn’t at the gallery.” She pauses. “Was my brother, like, intensely territorial when he found out where I was?”

Clarke furrows her eyebrows.

“He used to be,” Octavia explains. “When I liked a guy back in high school, when we were living together, he was crazy. Almost military.” She rolls her eyes. “Just made me sneakier.”

Clarke laughs at that.

“I’m going to bed, okay?” Octavia jabs her thumb over her shoulder. “’Night, Clarke.”

“’Night, Octavia.”

When the door to Octavia’s room closes behind her, Clarke glances down at the boy asleep on her shoulder. He’s not a boy, really, he’s a man, and there are years between them, but when Clarke thinks of _man_ she thinks of married with children and a potential mid-life crisis. She thinks of facial hair and danger and her dead father. Maybe that’s because none of the boys she’s ever loved have grown past being boys. Maybe that’s because Bellamy looks so peaceful, so much less fraught than he has the capacity to look.

She nudges him lightly. In a soft voice, she says, “Bellamy.”

He doesn’t stir.

“ _Bellamy_.”

It takes a couple more attempts, but then he groans awake.

Without opening his eyes, he asks groggily, “what?”

“Octavia’s home.”

“Mmkay.”

“And I’ve got to go to bed because I’m really tired. I think you’re really tired, too.”

Bellamy yawns. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Clarke laughs. “Come on, let’s get you to bed.”

“I’ll sleep on the couch,” he says, still not opening his eyes.

“Nonsense. Come on.”

He complies and she pulls his arm back over her to act as a crutch. When they reach Clarke’s room, Bellamy practically collapses onto the bed.

“Careful you don’t crush my flowers.”

“I’m happy you like them, Clarke.”

“Of course I like them,” she says. “You can’t fall asleep in your jeans, you’ll regret it as soon as you wake up. In fact, probably sooner.”

Bellamy groans. “Stop _mothering_ me.”

“I’m not _mothering_ you.”

“What are you doing, then?”

Clarke pauses. “I don’t know, I’m _friending_ you?”

Bellamy snorts. “You’re _girlfriending_ me,” he decides, having barely opened his eyes over the course of the entire interaction. “I’ll undress myself, Princess. You don’t have to do that part for me.”

“Believe me,” she says, lying through her teeth, “That’s the last thing I want to do.” She crosses the room and grabs her pyjamas. “I’m gonna change.”

“You don’t have to go anywhere,” says Bellamy as Clarke heads for the door. “My eyes aren’t exactly open anyway.”

She considers it.

The long and short of what follows is basically the pair getting changed and ending up on their respective sides of what is now no longer just Clarke’s bed. Bellamy falls back to sleep almost immediately, which is why Clarke decides he _must_ be exhausted, and she follows shortly after, having stayed up to read their Greece itinerary.

Their flight leaves the day after tomorrow.

Clarke realises she has to pack, but her tired mind cannot stray from one singular thought – all of the beauty of the Mediterranean aside – “there’ll be plenty of time for pillow talk in Greece.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think part of the fact Bellamy is so tired at the end of this chapter is because I am. But! Yes! That was the last pre-Greece chapter! Please, please, please continue to hit me up on Tumblr (charlottebrontate) because nothing makes me happier than seeing people enjoy this story. (Comments and kudos mean the world!)


	8. Transit

Five people pile out of Achilles the Blake Family Automobile at the airport drop-off. Octavia has come to bid her brother adieu for the week and to say thanks to Clarke for letting her housesit in the swanky part of town. Raven is the only person the Blakes trust to drive their car apart from themselves, and Lexa was at Raven’s apartment when the Blake-Griffin trio arrived, so she decided to tag along, too.

It ended up being Bellamy and Raven in the front seats, with Lexa, Clarke, and Octavia sandwiched together in the back.

Bellamy had used his free day yesterday to swing by Raven’s place, to tell her about what had happened. Lexa had been there, too, and he had half a mind to ask them if they were dating, like Monty and Nate, but the thought had dropped from his mind when – upon telling Raven about kissing Clarke – she rolled her eyes and groaned, “Am I the _only one_ who hasn’t made out with that girl?”

Bellamy’s jaw had fallen open and he had stared at Lexa, who was giggling behind her hand.

He must have looked like the personification of a question mark, because the Commander said, “I told you, didn’t I? That I was speaking from experience when I gave you advice on Clarke?”

Bellamy could say very little more than “um.” When he had solved the problem of his incoherency, he had said, “you dated Clarke?”

Raven had laughed. “She ran the city-wide MUN with Clarke and they made out a whole lot. I don’t know if they actually _dated_.”

“That’s not fair,” Lexa decided, with a slight downturn of her lips. “We might have.”

“I should ask,” said Raven, nodding at Lexa. “Do you think that’d be weird?”

“What, weirder than you and Clarke having a girlfriend in common?” Lexa had joked.

(It fell through the silence that Clarke and Raven also had a boyfriend in common.)

Bellamy’s eyebrows knit together. “Do I have _any_ straight friends?”

Raven had shrugged. “Wick’s straight.”

“Wow, thanks, Raven – great example – an Engineering post-grad you fucked in college.” Bellamy pursed his lips. “We talked _one time_.”

“But that was how we met Monty,” Raven argued, pointing out the positives.

It was true: Monty had attended another university in the city, (along with Jasper, Bellamy then realised) and he and Wick knew each other through their schools’ science departments. Through Monty, Raven had met Clarke – and so had Finn, so _that_ snowballed. But thinking of Monty made Bellamy think of Miller, and by extension of Clarke, bringing him back to his original point.

“But, yeah, I kissed Clarke. Well – no – Clarke kissed me, and things were awkward, but now they’re sort of normal again. Help?”

Raven had sat him down on one of her bar stools, and Lexa had poured him a drink. (They worked in sync, the two of them: polar opposites and yet so similar.)

“So,” Raven had said with a delicate raise of one eyebrow. “You like Clarke.”

Bellamy had pressed his lips together. “I don’t _like Clarke_.”

Lexa raised her eyebrows, not believing a word he said. “ _I_ think you like Clarke.”

“She’s an easy girl to like, most of the time,” Raven had added. (She and Lexa high-fived, still looking at Bellamy.)

“Maybe you two should date her.”

Raven and Lexa both shrugged.

“I’d probably just say act normal,” said Raven after a time. “Like, be the way you were before you actually had some sense knocked into you. Have the time of your life in Greece with a hot girl, and her awesome boobs, and enjoy the fact that you get to do your job _and_ have everyone think you’re screwing Clarke.”

Lexa nodded, tight-lipped. “You could just _actually_ screw Clarke,” she offered. “If it got to that point and you were both willing.”

Bellamy would never admit it, but under his freckles he had blushed. He cleared his throat. “Right. Uh – yeah. Good idea.”

Raven had raised her eyebrows, a smirk tugging at her lips.

“The first part,” Bellamy elaborated quickly. “Not whatever Lexa said.”

And now he finds himself hugging his sister goodbye, and hugging Raven goodbye, and Lexa isn’t really much of a hugger so they go for the exchange of a stalwart nod, and then he’s heading off into the airport with a couple of bags and his fake girlfriend.

*

Clarke leans a bit closer when they near the check-in desk, taking Bellamy’s hand and interlacing his fingers with hers. While he does not seem immediately shocked by the gesture, he still looks down at her, his eyebrows slightly raised but his eyes content, present, observing, and she says, “I can see Jasper and Maya.”

He gives her a small smile, like she’s said something that reminds him just how much he loves her. When they reach Jasper and Maya, Clarke can’t see that the smile’s still on his face.

“Maya!” Clarke exclaims, the picture of excitement. “Are you tagging along to Greece as well?”

Maya grins, nodding. “I take art classes at the gallery, so I couldn’t miss this – I’ll probably end up doing a sculpture based on Greek form, but it won’t be half as good.”

Clarke laughs. “Bellamy told me you were taking classes, but now that you’re coming we’ll have to do all that stuff together. It’ll give us something to do while these guys are all out digging up Theseus.”

Bellamy opens his mouth to correct her, but she adds quickly, “Yes, Bellamy, I know Theseus is technically myth…” Then she turns to Jasper. “I hear we have a mutual friend.”

His eyes light up. “Monty! Yeah! That’s so cool!”

And so they launch into a conversation about The Excellence That Is Monty Green, until Bellamy puts a hand on the small of Clarke’s back and murmurs, “We’ve gotta check in, Princess.”

Maya offers to wait while Bellamy and Clarke check in, but Jasper wants In-N-Out Burger, which is upstairs before the departure leg of Customs, and Jasper can be really whiny when he wants to be, so the two of them depart.

There’s pleasant small talk with the lady at the check-in desk, and then somebody calls “Clarke!” and her blood runs cold.

*

Bellamy sees the smile drop off Clarke’s face altogether at the sound of her name. He’s not sure why a woman – a brown-haired woman, he sees now – calling out to her would cause such a reaction, especially if she’s with… oh, Christ. Of course. Walking towards them now, alongside Thelonious Jaha, is none other than Clarke’s mom. Bellamy takes hold of Clarke’s hand again and gives it a quick squeeze.

“Mom,” Clarke says, certainly surprised.

The dark-haired woman is looking from Clarke to Bellamy to the hand linking the two of them.

“Abby, this is Bellamy Blake,” Thelonious tells Clarke’s mother – Abby – with a nod to the historian in question. “He’s the one I was telling you about.”

Abby nods, and Bellamy raises his eyebrows. After a beat of awkward pause, he releases Clarke’s hand and reaches forward to shake her mother’s, a grin plastered on his face. “Mrs. Griffin, it’s an honour.”

Abby smiles, albeit somewhat stiffly, and shakes Bellamy’s hand. Her eyes flicker from him to Clarke, and she says, “Please, call me Abby.”

“Mom,” says Clarke, still frozen in place. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to wish you luck, and to see you off.”

Clarke doesn’t smile. “Seeing someone off implies you’ve been with them beforehand.”

Abby begins to shake her head. “Honey, not here…”

“We’ve had our goodbyes, haven’t we, Bellamy?” Clarke says, linking her arm in his and looking up at him.

“Clarke, maybe you should cut your mom some – ”

“ – Octavia, Bellamy’s sister, came to see us off,” Clarke interjects, turning back to her mother. “She goes to Brown, and she’s killing it. I told you about her on the phone. And Raven, and Lexa.” There’s a steely look in her eyes as she says, “I don’t remember you liking her much.”

“It wasn’t a question of _liking_ her, Clarke, it was _trusting_ her that I – ”

Bellamy moved his arm to put his hand back in Clarke’s. “Well, she and Raven are really happy together, so everything’s worked out in the end.”

Abby raises her eyebrows. Clarke clasps Bellamy’s hand harder and he tries to ignore the fact his heart is racing.

“Lexa is seeing _Raven_? Raven _Reyes_?”

“Yes, mom,” says Clarke tiredly, though she was not aware of the fact until a few moments earlier. “The same Raven Reyes who helped you fix a two-person plane during the summer before junior year of college is now dating Lexa.”

Abby swallows. “Oh, all right.”

Thelonious, miraculously silent throughout this entire discussion, steps forward. “I should check on the rest of the group. I’ll leave you here, shall I, Abby?”

Abby nods to Thelonious, tight-lipped. Clarke and her mother lock eyes and Bellamy swears he could cut the tension with a knife. False pleasantries come more common than real ones, apparently, in this family. At least there’s a family.

“So, Bellamy,” says Abby. “You’re going to work for ARK?”

Bellamy raises his eyebrows. “Hopefully,” he replies.

Then she asks him a series of questions and an over-arching theme occurs to him. She asks him about work, how long he’ll be overseas and where he’ll be, what kind of money he would be earning and what that would mean for his friends, for his sister, for his girlfriend. Bellamy doesn’t know what makes him say what he blurts out next, but he knows with a painful grating in his throat that every word is true.

“I want to be with Clarke more than I want to be with ARK, if that’s where this conversation is going.”

He can’t look at her, because that would make it real, so he keeps his eyes on Abby, who has also been stunned into silence.

“I’ll leave you two alone,” he decides after a moment. “It was lovely to meet you, Abby.” He leans down and presses a kiss to Clarke’s cheek. “I’ll be at In-N-Out with Jasper and Maya. Come rescue me as soon as you can.”

*

Clarke slides into the seat beside Bellamy at In-N-Out Burger looking murderous. It’s her hard look, the look she wears when she feels like falling apart. “How could she just _trap_ me like that?”

“I don’t think she meant to, Clarke.”

“Oh, but that’s never stopped her before,” Clarke snaps, still in a low voice although Jasper and Maya are at the counter ordering more food. “She _always_ does this – and what’s worse is that, this time, she brought _you_ into it!”

Bellamy’s eyebrows knit together. “What do you mean?”

Clarke rolls her eyes and Bellamy removes the hand he had placed on her back for fear she might snap it off. “I thought the thing you said about me over ARK may have been a little dramatic, but it was really good. Unfortunately, she saw that as a sign that you care _way more_ for me than I do for you, because if you were willing to say that to her and I wasn’t even going to mention you to _my own mother_ ,” she says the last words in a mockingly self-righteous voice, “then there’s obviously something wrong in our relationship.”

“Clarke, I highly doubt there’s anything wrong with our relationship, and if your mom thinks so, then maybe she should re-examine hers with you.”

Clarke raises an eyebrow. “You _do_ realise I’m just here for the free holiday and a potential make-out, right?”

“Funny,” says Bellamy.

“Yeah, especially that last part. Hilarious. Last time _that_ happened, you almost cried.”

Bellamy clenches his jaw. “You never let me _explain_ about that.”

“Explain about what?” comes Jasper, returning with Maya and yet another burger.

“Nothing,” Bellamy replies.

*

Their flight to Athens is direct: it doesn’t stop, and neither does the act Bellamy and Clarke have to keep up. They relax a bit more in the plane, but they’re in Coach, so there really isn’t much room for it. Plus, every seat in their immediate vicinity is taken by a member of the ARK party. Needless to say, Clarke’s hand remains in Bellamy’s almost the entire flight. (One time, he falls asleep against her shoulder and she nestles in beside him, clutching his hand tighter and wrapping her free one around his arm.) At one point, when they’re both engrossed in the in-flight entertainment – Bellamy in _CSI: New York_ and Clarke in the original _CSI_ , the _Las Vegas_ one, because yes they have bonded over _CSI_ and yes _Miami_ is the worst one because Horatio Caine and his sunglasses are next level ridiculous, and no before you ask they have not seen _CSI: Cyber_ , but maybe they’ll watch it together – Clarke reaches over and rests her hand on Bellamy’s knee. Neither of them acknowledges it. (But, later, when Clarke’s head is lightly resting on her seat, her eyes closed and her breathing steady, Bellamy watches her with a curious expression on his face. They’re in such a close proximity that he doesn’t have to move far at all to press his lips to her hair.)

Their play-acting continues through the airport, with Bellamy pulling their shared suitcase off of the conveyor belt – Raven had said that that’s what real, sickening couples did (shared suitcases), but Clarke had felt a bit weird about Bellamy seeing her underwear, so thankfully she’d been in possession of a two-compartment suitcase – and in the bus on the way to their hotel Clarke leans onto Bellamy’s shoulder as he talks to Marcus Kane.

The hotel is gorgeous; the kind Clarke’s parents would have loved if they’d made it east of Italy. There’s a spectacular view from Bellamy and Clarke’s room, looking out onto the Acropolis and the Parthenon sitting atop it.

When they come back from dinner with the rest of the group, and they’re both exhausted and practically crawling into bed, Bellamy tells Clarke all about Pallas Athena and the artwork on the west pediment of the Parthenon and how she can’t see it now but if she could she would love it. She comes dangerously close to saying it is _this_ she loves – talking to Bellamy and anything and everything and that it could possibly just be her tired mind but that doesn’t make her feelings any less valid. But she doesn’t. She just listens to him.

He asks if he’s boring her when he gets to Demeter and Persephone, and when she shakes her head, he still goes quiet.

“What?” Clarke asks, her eyes half-closed. She reaches out for him to continue and ends up running a hand across his face. “Why have you stopped?”

Bellamy exhales deeply. “You should talk to your mom.”

Clarke freezes. “You’re ruining an otherwise really good night by telling me this _because_?”

“Because you should, and you know I’m right.”

Clarke sighs, turning over in bed and facing away from him. “You don’t know anything, Bellamy.”

He pauses a moment. “I know that repairing your relationship with your mother now sure as hell beats what might happen if you don’t.”

“What does _that_ mean?”

“Having the opportunity to spend time with your mom and choosing not to is literally the _worst_ thing you could be doing, Clarke.”

“And why is that?” she snaps, harsher than intended.

“Because some of us don’t get that chance.”

They’re both quiet, and then Clarke turns back around, comprehending. Her heart breaks to look at him.

“Bellamy, I’m so sorry, I didn’t even – ”

“ – it’s okay,” he replies, and it is. “Just… make an effort with her, Clarke. At least _try_ so you can say you did everything you could.”

Clarke meets his gaze with hers; they share in the silence. Then a small smile breaks on Clarke’s face and Bellamy asks why she’s giggling.

“Because I’m here in Athens with you,” she says honestly. “We hated each other a month ago.”

Bellamy scrunches up his face. “We _dated_ each other a month ago.”

“Yeah, but I still kind of wanted to commit murder.”

“Fair enough,” says Bellamy. “I _did_ joke about poison.”

“Yes, you did.” Clarke looks at him with narrowed eyes. “We hated each other. You were an ass.”

Bellamy chuckles. “I think you’ll find I’m still an ass. And you’re still the princess.”

“I think what makes the difference here,” says Clarke, “is the fact I’m on your team.”

Bellamy raises an eyebrow.

“Neither of us are alone, now,” Clarke explains. After a moment she seems to change her mind, and commences shaking her head. “That wasn’t right. You’re – you’ve never been alone… you have Octavia, and…”

“No, I get it.” Bellamy props himself up on one elbow and looks at her, almost falling asleep due to jetlag and sheer exhaustion. Perhaps they’re both as tired as each other, but he could stay awake a thousand years if it meant speaking candidly with Clarke Griffin. He’s never really liked deep conversation, but with Clarke, nothing is quite the same. “We _are_ a team, you and I.”

“The princess and her knight in shining armour?”

Bellamy half-smiles. “You don’t need a knight, Clarke. You can protect yourself just fine.”

“Doesn’t mean I don’t want your help,” she replies. “It’s hard ruling a kingdom alone, you know.”

“Maybe I’m not a knight, then,” says Bellamy, looking down at her with a smirk on his face. “Maybe I’m the king.”

Clarke shakes her head. “You’re too much of an anarchist to be king.”

“What’s wrong with a little chaos?”

“A lot,” says Clarke. Bellamy wonders if she’s thinking of a stabbed best friend or an overturned bus. Maybe she’s just thinking of him.

He clears his throat, wishing the same of his mind. “Uh – we should go to sleep. Early start in the morning. Are you spending the day with Maya?”

Clarke sighs. “I don’t know – what time do you get back from wherever it is you’re going?”

Bellamy relinquishes his leaning position and lies down properly. “I’m not sure, but don’t schedule your day around me if it stops you doing what you want.”

“You forget that you’re my _boyfriend_ , Bellamy. You _are_ what I want.”

Maybe it’s because she’s tired, maybe that’s why she’s phrased things as she has. Either way, those five words are sure to be etched into Bellamy’s brain as long as he has the capacity to remember them. If only she meant those words. If only they were hers, not fabricated. What a joy it would be to not be pretending.

“Great to hear it, Princess.”

He clears his throat again as Clarke reaches for the switch to turn off her bedside lamp. It would be easy to lean over and kiss her now, just to say _goodnight_ – but no. She doesn’t want that; she doesn’t want _him_ and there’s no one around to pretend for. Dear God, what has he got himself into?

“We’ll iron everything out at breakfast, okay?”

Clarke sighs against the pillow, opening her eyes after previously having shut them. “Okay, Bellamy.”

“Night, Clarke.”

An infinitesimal pause, and then: “Night, Bellamy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for being so patient! This update is coming way, way later than anticipated, but I have had a ridiculous amount of assignments to get done over the past couple of weeks, including a Classics paper that ended up being around 9,000 words long! (Bellamy would be proud.) Anyway, I hope you've enjoyed this chapter - there are some parts I'm unsure about but it's as good as I'm going to get it. Comments and kudos mean the world!


	9. Second

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again! I'm so, so sorry for how long this took. Six months is a long time to be gone, and there's a really extensive list of reasons. But here I am, back at it. I hope you enjoy!

Bellamy is usually up with the sun, but that waking sun seems to be solely located in the sky above Clarke Griffin’s apartment, all the way on the other side of the world. When his eyes do eventually flicker open, they encounter the sight of empty sheets and an unfamiliar bedside table. No sleepy Clarke to speak of. His hands curl around nothing but blankets, which for all their expensive thread counts still aren’t as soft as the strip of skin between the tank top and cotton shorts she wears to bed. (Or _wore_ , rather, up until last night, when a salmon-coloured nightie appeared instead, all silk and lace and thoughts straying from platonic ones.)

“I was beginning to worry I’d have to leave for breakfast without you.”

Bellamy turns at the sound of Clarke’s voice and finds her standing by the window, still in that damn nightie, with the curtains open and her phone clutched in her hand.

“I’m sorry I haven’t done the travelling you have,” he groans. Fighting back a yawn, he adds, “Miller wasn’t kidding about jetlag.”

Clarke laughs. “Come and look at this.”

Bellamy pulls himself out of bed and moves to stand beside Clarke. He takes one look at the view and can’t seem to find it in him to be tired anymore.

“Fuck.”

Clarke glances up at him. The sheer, childlike awe on Bellamy’s face makes her smile a little herself.

“Clarke, we are in _Athens!_ ” Almost out of habit, he throws an arm around her shoulders and pulls her in beside him. “Clarke, that is the _Acropolis_ – right there! Look at it – _well_ , the _scaffolding_ – but – ” He lets out a laugh. “Fuck, this is so dope.”

They stand there a moment, Bellamy revelling in just how beautiful and exciting it all is in the fading hues of sunrise, Clarke content watching him do so, and then the loud, electronic Skype ringtone starts blaring from Clarke’s phone.

“Way to ruin the moment, Clarke,” Bellamy quips as Clarke pulls the screen up into her line of vision.

“It’s _your_ sister, crabby ass.”

Bellamy’s eyebrows knit together. “Why do you have _my_ sister on Skype?”

“She added me while we were on the plane,” Clarke says quickly, selecting the _Answer with Video Call_ option.

Octavia’s face bursts onto the phone screen, along with half of a face both Bellamy and Clarke recognise to be Raven’s.

“Hello to Clarke and…” Raven pauses. “…Apparently, Bellamy’s left bicep.”

Bellamy crouches down to Clarke’s level, which really isn’t that far, and Clarke adjusts her hold on the phone to fit both of them in.

“Hey, O,” says Bellamy, “hey, Raven.”

The conversation only lasts as long as the remainder of Clarke’s free half hour of hotel internet, but in that time they recount the flight over and discover that Monty’s apartment sprung a leak in the not-quite-a-day they’ve been gone, and rather than hire a plumber to do anything about it Monty just called all his friends over and Nate showed up with a “big ass hammer”, which prompts Octavia – the only person neither in Greece nor invited to Monty’s emergency leak-plugging – to ask, “Was that a _Dr. Horrible_ reference?”.

When Clarke’s internet access shuts off, Bellamy notices the time on her phone.

“Do you want the first shower?” he asks, because they’ve got twenty minutes until the latest acceptable time for them to arrive at breakfast.

Clarke’s eyes dart back to her screen and she nods. “Yeah, sure – I won’t be long. You should start packing for today’s trip.”

She moves away from him to pick up one of the towels the hotel staff left on their bed, and Bellamy raises an eyebrow.

“You know, it’s just a day trip. I don’t know if I’ll need more than my wallet and my phone.”

Clarke turns to him as she reaches the bathroom threshold. “A lot can happen in a day.”

*

The last thing Clarke wants whilst in line for a second helping of fruit is a conversation with Thelonious Jaha. Then again, the universe has never been remotely interested in giving Clarke Griffin what she wants, so as the older man approaches, she puts on her best smile.

“Good morning, Clarke. I trust you slept well.”

“I did – or as well as anyone can when adjusting to a seven-hour time difference.”

Thelonious laughs at this. “You’re doing much better than some. We’re yet to catch a glimpse of Diggs.”

“Jetlag’s a killer,” says Clarke, filling her bowl with watermelon and figs and a few fruits she can’t identify on sight. “Bellamy practically invented the phrase ‘morning person’, and he was out like a light for a solid half hour after I woke up.”

This earns a fond nod from Thelonious, a gesture Clarke associates with diplomats and company execs. It’s a nod that says he has been listening, and understands and appreciates what he has been told, yet may not quite have calculated the words with which to respond yet. Clarke doesn’t think he’s not being genuine, but she can’t help recognising an electoral candidate in his actions.

“Your mother was glad to see you at the airport. You and Bellamy both.”

Clarke bites back a retort, forcing herself to think about the fact that this man is in charge of her boyfriend’s employment and she can’t do anything to jeopardise that. She owes it to Bellamy to be civil.

“I hadn’t seen her in a long time,” she says instead.

“Too long,” says Thelonious.

Clarke’s bowl is full and, with the sound of a throat clearing behind her, she releases her grip on the serving tongs. The somewhat disgruntled holidaymaker whose breakfast had been held up by Clarke’s conversation with Thelonious snatches them up and begins making fruit selections. Thelonious is momentarily quiet.

“Today’s trip to the archives shouldn’t be too long,” he tells Clarke. “We thought we would get the stereotypically tedious meetings out of the way on the first day, so that our prospective employees could bring their partners along on the following days if they so choose.” Thelonious smiles at her. “I imagine Bellamy would hate for you to miss out on the opportunity to see such a variety of classical sculpture.”

Clarke nods. “He knows how much I love art.”

“Good,” says Thelonious. “Do you think you’ll be able to manage today relaxing by the pool and recovering from your flight – or perhaps will you and Jasper’s – uh – Maya go for a sightseeing expedition yourselves?”

She hasn’t thought too much about it, and tells him so. “But I’m sure Bellamy will come back with enough of a story to last me seventy-five years, so I think I can take a few hours of peace and quiet in the meantime.”

“Wonderful.” Thelonious seems to notice the full bowl of fruit in Clarke’s hand and says, “I shouldn’t interrupt your breakfast. It’s nice seeing you again, Clarke.”

She tells him it’s always a pleasure, even though it’s not, and as she’s walking back to the table where Bellamy is laughing at something Harper has just said and Jasper has just about swallowed his spoon, she’s haunted by an earlier thought. Had she _mentally_ referred to Bellamy as her _boyfriend?_

*

When they arrive back to their room after breakfast, Bellamy lets out a huge sigh. “Five minutes longer and I may have actually had to kill Jasper Jordan.”

Clarke laughs, moving out from the protective handle of Bellamy’s arm around her shoulders and making her way across the room. “I probably would’ve helped.”

“Spear to the chest,” Bellamy muses. “I was actually talking to Murphy about it by the Espresso machines.”

“Oh, is _that_ why my coffee took so long?”

Bellamy shoots her a sarcastic smile. “There’s this gladiator school in Rome, and Murphy was wondering if we should commandeer the trip, go, and then get a little _too_ good in training.”

The sides of Clarke’s mouth twitch upward despite herself. “I can imagine you running around a battlefield with a spear.” She thinks it over further. “Or a sword. Or – ”

“ – Basically, you’re saying I look like I’m prone to violence.”

“Not _violence_ , necessarily, but definitely survival.”

There’s something she can’t decipher in the way he looks at her then. It’s almost the same way he always looks at her, but there’s more to it. It’s nostalgic, it’s appreciative – it’s so many things in half a split second and then she turns away and it’s gone.

Bellamy’s itinerary, which Clarke swiped out of his carry-on luggage even though he could quite easily have recalled the entire thing for all the times he’d read it, states that today’s excursion will only take four hours.

“Think you can survive four hours without me, Clarke?”

The teasing tone in his voice is painful, painful because it makes the hairs on the back of her neck stand up on end, as though she’d rather he was breathing the words into her ear, each exhalation falling further and further down her neck. Clarke presses her lips together. She’s determined not to think like that.

“I’m not sure,” she replies, folding the itinerary and turning back to face him. She doesn’t know what game they’re playing, but she’s determined not to drop the baton. “The last time we were apart that long I was working.”

Bellamy glances up at her; the yellowed book in his hands is forgotten. “Didn’t bring any work with you, did you?”

“I’ve only got one case going at the moment,” says Clarke truthfully, “but I’m sure Gustus can handle it – he usually takes care of stuff for Lexa when she has to pass it on.”

Bellamy takes a step towards Clarke, resting the book on the desk beside her. “If you want, I’ve got _the Aeneid_ and about three books on art that you might be into. You could go down to the pool, take a load off. You deserve it.”

“What makes you say that?” she asks, narrowing her eyes and peering up at him.

Bellamy chuckles. “Clarke, I live with you. Your life is batshit crazy about a hundred percent of the time.”

This makes her laugh, too.

“Okay, I will admit that that’s probably true. You didn’t have to waste half your luggage allowance on books _in case I got bored_ , though.”

“’Course I did,” Bellamy says, not missing a beat. “You’re my best girl.”

After a moment, he adds, “Don’t tell O I said that.”

“My lips are sealed,” says Clarke dutifully. She picks up Bellamy’s book and inspects it (although, had she been more focused on the owner of the book, she might’ve noticed his eyes on her mouth). “Virgil’s _Aeneid_.”

Bellamy nods. “It’s way better than _the Odyssey_. Hell, the first half a chapter’s more excitingly written than all twenty-four of Odysseus’.”

Someone knocks on the door and Bellamy turns, his gaze paralleling Clarke’s. Jasper Jordan’s muffled voice shouts, “C’mon, Bellamy! I want to get a good seat on the bus!”

Bellamy turns back to Clarke and mutters, “God, someone shut that kid up before I kill him,” and then someone else – Harper – is shouting, “Fuck you, Jordan! I called dibs when you were still studying the grit of American soil!”

Clarke meets Bellamy’s eye, raising an eyebrow. “You’re a sought-after guy.”

Bellamy grins. “In all fairness, I’d rather sit beside Harper for forty-five minutes than Jasper for any length of time.”

“Good thing she called dibs, then, huh?”

Bellamy shoves Clarke, the smile still on his face. He turns and grabs his phone, which he shoves in his back pocket along with his wallet and a pen (Clarke had told him earlier that the “Notes” app on a phone did nothing if a corporate exec ran out of ballpoint ink). Then he strides over to the door, swings it open, and says, “As an older brother, dibs is definitely the most binding of any contract.” Harper flips Jasper off.

With Bellamy, Harper, and Jasper all assembled somewhat haphazardly in the hallway, Monroe sticks her head around the corner in front. “You guys, the bus leaves in five minutes. Stop worrying about fucking seating arrangements and start hauling ass.”

Jasper salutes her, and Harper turns to Bellamy, nodding. “You ready to go?”

Bellamy nods slowly. His hand pats his back pocket, which is carrying everything he _really_ needs, and then says, “Shit.”

Clarke, watching from the doorway with her arms crossed, asks, “what, have you forgotten something?”

“Yeah.”

And then before she can ask what, he closes the distance between them and presses a kiss to her lips. His right hand frames her face for a split second, and she begins to reach for him, but then he has pulled away and is winking at her. “Catch ya later, Clarke.”

Harper has probably rolled her eyes and Jasper most likely looks like a four-year-old, but Clarke can’t manage much more than a grin.

“See ya, Bellamy.”

*

Bellamy soon discovers that sitting with Harper on the bus does not prevent Jasper from talking his ear off the entire journey. In fact, it’s probably worse that the constant stream of questions is coming from the seat directly behind him. He feels sorry for whoever the poor soul is sitting beside Jasper, too, because even though he doesn’t know them he’s more than confident whoever they are does not give a shit about Bellamy’s life. Jasper definitely does.

“So why were you and Clarke so late to breakfast, huh? Things get a little…?”

Harper groans, muttering something that sounds like, “Why the fuck did I ever want to hook up with you?” and Bellamy grits his teeth.

“ _No_ , Jasper.”

“Then _why?_ ”

“Because sometimes when you’ve spent more than ten hours on a plane, travelling from one side of the world to the other, you contract a funny little thing called jetlag. Ever heard of it?”

“Heard of it, yeah. Experienced it, _never_.”

If there’s one thing Bellamy cannot comprehend, it’s a girl like Maya wanting to date the human livewire that is Jasper Jordan. Surely, she had other options.

“Well, yeah. And then we had to Skype people – ”

“ – _Sky people?_ ”

“ – _Skype_ ,” Bellamy repeats, already exhausted. “Look, don’t you have something better to do than ask me about what my girlfriend and I were doing last night? Greece is flying by outside – only the _birthplace_ of _modern civilisation_ – why don’t you investigate that?”

“You know, Bellamy, I’m a smart guy.”

Harper groans again.

“I can tell when someone’s trying to avoid a – ”

“ – Jordan, I can honestly tell you that if I hear one more word out of your godforsaken mouth before we arrive at the site of these ancient fucking archives, I will personally beat the shit out of you.”

This outburst, coming – unsurprisingly – from John Murphy in the row beside Bellamy and Harper, moves Jasper to silence. He nods, mouths "got it", and leans back into his seat.

Bellamy leans forward to see Murphy past Harper. A thought has occurred to him. "Weren't you meant to be on some remote island looking for Jaha's new energy source?"

Murphy snorts. "Yeah, sure, if you can call his theory a 'new energy source'." He leans closer. "Jaha had me mining deserts and sailing through storms trying to find the location of that thing – when it turned out it was only something he'd heard of at a science conference last year. Can't complain, though. The grants were massive. The minute we found what we were looking for – or, actually, we didn't – I found myself a nice ass mansion on some island. Livin' the dream."

"Then why aren't you still there?" Harper asks. "If you've already got an ARK job, what are you doing here?"

Murphy shrugs. "Technically, I'm advising. Acting as an associate, per se. So I've got power over all you unemployed saps."

Bellamy sets his jaw. "Murphy, there's no need to be an ass."

"I'm not being an ass, Blake. I'm on your side – can't have Mouthy McFuck-Knuckle" – he nods his head in Jasper's direction – "on my case all the time." He leans back against his seat. "Nah, any of you gunners get it and I'll be happy as can be."

"Speaking of gunners," Harper pipes up, "didn't you get caught up in some mafia ring in the middle of the desert? Or was Roma spinning shit?"

Murphy closes his eyes. "Nah, there was definitely something going on out there. Didn't know what it was until we were in too deep. Definitely a mob thing, looking for the same shit we were." He opens his eyes and glances between Harper and Bellamy. "Did you know I almost got stabbed?"

"Out of everything you've told me about your trip, Murphy, being stabbed was not part of it." Bellamy doesn't add that Murphy hasn't really told him much, because they hadn't seen each other in months prior to this trip.

"Well, it's pretty self-explanatory. We got stuck with this mob group for a few days, just making camp and walking and making camp and walking – boring and tedious as fuck. Anyway, things start falling to shit and this chick I'd been hanging with, Emori, pulls a fucking knife to my throat and tells the rest of the team that she'll kill me if things don't go their way." Murphy shrugs. "Which kind of sucked, because I could've been falling for her. Overlooking the whole 'mafia' thing."

"I'd've stabbed you," says Harper.

"That's okay, babe, I don't think I'd bang you anyway."

Bellamy turns to Murphy. "Do you have to say shit like that?"

"Like what? It's true."

"I don't give a fuck if it's true," says Bellamy. "What makes you think anyone cares whether or not you’d have sex with them?"

Harper sighs. "Don't worry about it, Bellamy. He's just trying to be an ass."

"Well, for once in his life, he's succeeding at something."

Murphy's self-indulgent smirk fades from his face. "Blake, I distinctly remember a bit more of a 'whatever the hell we want' attitude."

Bellamy doesn't validate him with a glance. "Times change."

"Oh, right, I forgot you had your balls chopped off."

Again, Bellamy ignores him.

"Tell me, did you give them to Clarke in a little silk bag, eunuch style, or did she chop them off herself?"

Bellamy breathes in deeply, muttering, "Murphy, stop before I actually start hating you," as Harper snaps, "Just shut the fuck up, Murphy. We already know you've got one talent, and that's talking out of your asshole."

Murphy laughs. "Fine, that's cool – I know how it is." Then, a moment later, he adds, "Tell me, Bellamy. What's it like to be fucking whipped?"

*

About half an hour after Bellamy leaves, Clarke gets a call on their room phone.

"Uh, hello?"

"Clarke?" says the voice on the other end. "It's Maya. I asked the front desk for your number; I hope that's alright."

Clarke moves to lie down on the still unmade bed – Bellamy's side. "No, that's fine. Of course. How can I help you?"

"A few of us are going to go down to the hotel spa, would you want to come?"

Clarke doesn't know many of the plus-ones on the trip, and she knows even less about what the spa has on offer. Nevertheless, she remembers Bellamy's voice telling her to take a load off, and decides that maybe she should. It'd certainly beat staying in their room all day, thinking about the fact that her fake boyfriend-of-about-seven-months kissed her in front of two of his potential colleagues. Which is certainly not what she's been doing for the past half hour. Of course not.

"Sure, yeah."

"Awesome!" Maya says, and she genuinely sounds like she means it. "I can meet you at your room if you want – Jasper and I are around the corner, not too far."

So Clarke gives Maya the affirmative and sets about changing into her swimsuit (what else are you supposed to wear to a spa?). Fifteen minutes later, Maya knocks on Clarke's door, and the two of them head down to the spa with a couple of others, who are introduced to Clarke as Roma and Mel.

Roma works in ARK's HR department and has been friends with Harper for as long as either of them have had ARK associations. Clarke doesn't know Harper or Roma well enough to ask if the friendship has extended, but she figures it's none of her business. Mel used to be an amateur mountain climber, of all things, until she almost had a bad fall and swore off it; she's been seeing Diggs for about a year. By the time the four girls have got to the main pool within the spa, after flitting from Jacuzzis to cool down rooms and all the rest, Clarke feels like she knows almost everything about each of them. It's only fitting that the first statement somebody makes towards Clarke – beyond a collective appreciation of how she looks in a bathing suit, funnily enough – is to do with her apparent relationship with Bellamy.

"How did you know he was the guy for you, Clarke?"

Clarke sighs in Mel's direction, for it is she who has asked. Bellamy hasn't discussed this with her – they haven't talked about any of the intricacies of their 'relationship' in months. For all the time they've spent together, none of it has been scheming. She fights the urge to sigh again. She's on her own – but she can do this.

"When did I know Bellamy was the guy for me?" she repeats slowly. "Uh... to be completely honest with you, at first, I didn't. I thought he was the biggest asshole – we couldn't even be in a room together without it dissolving into a shouting match. It was awful. One time, my friend Monty ended up in tears – it was so bad. Anyway, I seriously hated Bellamy for a really long time. We didn't see eye to eye on anything. Then, one day, we were sort of supposed to hang out with our friend Raven, who is directly and indirectly pretty much the entire reason Bellamy and I ended up together, but she had to ditch, and so Bellamy and I were left with these shitty tickets to a shitty concert at some bistro. We went and it sucked. We'd managed not to kill each other, but it sucked. So Bellamy suggested this jazz bar, and it was so weird because it was awesome and unexpected but listening to Bellamy talk about jazz... he made it seem like the most beautiful thing in the world. It's the way he talks about Classics, too – it's what got him here. So the jazz bar got the cogs turning, got me thinking that maybe he wasn't so bad a guy, and then I guess I just had to keep spending more time with him. With Bellamy, it's the little things – like the fact he wakes up at dawn and always makes enough food for two people, and how he brings me coffee when I have to work, and how he's always got a hand on me, somehow – it's become so weird to see him and not feel him there, too. And one thing I really, really appreciate about him... he never pushes where he can feel a bruise. That sounds stupid when you phrase it the way I did, but what I mean is that, if he can tell something's sensitive, he never asks more about it. He waits for me to tell him, if and when I want to. I don't even know if it's a conscious decision, but he does it."

She suddenly feels like she's sweating. For the heat of the day, she might be.

"Sorry, Mel, what was the question?"

Maya laughs. "I think you covered it, Clarke."

"You're in tune with each other," says Roma. "I always feel like that's when you know."

"Know what?" Clarke asks.

She should be relieved that she's fooled them so well, but all she can think of is that by the end she had forgotten to be acting.

"Let's just say that, of the four of us, you'll easily be the first down the aisle."

Clarke shakes her head, trying not to smile. "Bellamy and I haven't even been together a year – that's not – no."

But Roma is still giving her that knowing look, and it's a look that scares her.

Just as they climb out of the pool and reach their towels, Clarke's phone begins to ring. She almost hadn't brought it down from her room, but when she sees the Caller ID, she's glad she did.

"Hey, Bellamy."

"We're taking a break for coffee or whatever, so I thought I'd see how you were."

Clarke bites back a smile. "I'm good. I'm down at the spa with a few of the girls."

"What's Monroe's cousin up to?"

"Sterling? I haven't seen him."

"How's the spa?"

She looks around. "It's really nice. Relaxing. Would be more relaxing if I could concentrate on chilling out instead of telling everyone the story of how we fell in love, but hey? What's a girl to do?"

Bellamy laughs. "Are you having a good time, though? Chilling as best you can?"

"Yeah, I'd say so. I've got my swimsuit on and everything. I'm about as relaxed as it gets."

There's a pause, then Bellamy says, "Try not to seduce half the hotel before I get back."

"Well, maybe if you weren't up to your neck in ancient scrolls, I’d have someone different to seduce.”

Instantly, Clarke freezes. Did she just say what she thinks she said? What will Bellamy think?

Oblivious to the reality of the situation, Roma and Mel exchange a glance. The former makes some comment about someone never reading through archives so fast.

Clarke hears the sound of a gulp through the phone. "Shit, Clarke."

She laughs. "Okay, forget the Kamasutra – "

" – At no point of this phone call was I thinking about the Kamasutra – "

" – How's the trip going?"

"It's good, yeah! The archives are such a privilege to actually get to see, and they're all so well-preserved, and it's just so awesome, Clarke. It's honestly so good."

"That's great, Bellamy. Of course, it'll be way more awesome when you're getting to experience it first-hand with me."

"Cute."

"Don't try and act cool and nonchalant, Bellamy. You're neither of those things and we both know it."

He laughs. "Why've you gotta tear me down, Clarke?"

"It's a ruse to cover up how much I love you. I can't admit to wanting to kiss your face all the time, Bellamy; that's not how this works."

"God! I'm such an idiot."

"Of course you are. You should probably go and be a kickass historian now."

"Yeah, you're right. I'll see you in a couple of hours." He sighs. "Love you, Clarke."

She smiles, even if he can't see her. "Love you, too, Bellamy."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought this would cover the entirety of their first day in Greece, but it hasn't - so we'll see if that spills over into next chapter. I promise it won't take six months.


End file.
